The Turning Autumn
by Gumdrop Boo
Summary: Change - it is inevitable; it is constant. People, places, thoughts and things never stay the same forever although within Berk change is never necessarily a bad thing. :Post movie 4 yrs:
1. A Questionable Perfect

**A/N:** Heyo, Welcome to the final season! If you are just joining us, I'd like to point you to three other collections to check out before you would start in on this one, just to be in the loop on everything that has gone down so far:

_***The Winter Haul  
*****The Sting of Spring  
*The Summer's Fervor**_

Also I would like to mention there are some subtle changes , why? Because Autumn is a season of change and so without further ado, I present _**"The Turning Autumn"**_

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**_For the first time in a long time things were going just the way he wanted them to.

Again he held some sort of influence, he had respect, and had maybe even set a trend as more and more of the single young Vikings all over the barbaric Archipelago talked of the prospect of getting themselves a foreign bride—even Tuffnut, who had idly threatened he would leave Berk if he couldn't get himself a girl by the autumn harvest.

In any case the Vikings who had stayed in the Southern Islands to help rebuild the damage caused by the spring raid were finally returning and so the village was busy with traffic, trading and the like as those who had spent their summer in the south had managed to obtain some of it's riches through their reconstruction efforts. Members of Stoick's war alliance stopped to re-supply with fresh water and grain meal.

As Hiccup's right hand man—the high commander, Snotlout was assigned tasks to oversee in the new bustle. Berk was not a port by any means but it had become a point of interest for travelers on the seas. Berk had never been extraordinary by any account but now it was known widely if not more so than before to have dragons and also whispers of Hiccup's name among the other clans had only been increasing since the raid. People wanted to meet the man who had begun to calm the disdain between Celtic and Viking Culture.

Of all that Snotlout had though, the most important above all was his girl. He and his new bride had fallen through the sheets to somewhere between Midgard and Valhalla on the night after their wedding, and had been ever since. They rationed their wedding beverage to extend the length of their honeymoon and on the first night of the new season, but the last of their uninterrupted bliss, were merry on mead and found most events more than funny.

"_I adore you, Bryn" Snotlout grumbled tenderly before chuckling at the roll of her eyes. He hadn't stopped telling her so since their marriage, and it was plain to see that the Celtic lass very much owned the gruff Viking's heart completely. She could render him a tame and willing husband with a flick of raised brow if he was acting ornery, a puddle of porridge upon a kiss, and a whirlwind of anger and jealousy if she stood too near another man when going about the village. _

_She was known as many names to her husband but he still had yet to call her by her one given name. _

"_Bryn-**na**" she reminded him of it—in case he had forgotten—and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him forward followed by a shriek of laughter._

_Her hair was the deep color of wine and set in large tousled curls around her bare, freckled shoulders. No woman was more beautiful than his wife, he daresay not even Freya._

"_Rock Girl!" he obstinately refused her prompts before burying his face to her neck with a onslaught of kisses to which she replied by chattering a slough of her native language in a mocking tone, which was what she often spoke under the influence of the potent alcohols of the North and he never understand a word of it._

_"Okay, Okay," he laughed, not surrendering but generously willing to compromise "How about we strike a deal."_

_"What kind of a deal?"_

_"A trade."_

_She raised a brow, and he no doubt knew she was suspicious of that term considering her past experience with its actions. She propped her head on an elbow and adjusted the linens over her body to hear of his proposal. Their minds had been clouded by their own festivities, and they had playfully made bargains before—usually of no accord—and would break them by morning anyhow._

_This time she seriously was considering him for what it would take to get him to say her name. _

_"I will call you by your name if you tell me how you learned to speak our language."_

He and everyone else had been curious to how she knew it. She had trouble with some words but for the most part was clear on what she meant to say and her pronunciation of the letters.

Not even her father knew their language, and Snotlout knew this because the Lord MacVaren had attended their wedding the month prior with the return voyage of Berk's Vikings to oversee the contract and to give away his daughter. The Lord and about fifty of his men had stepped onto the island and they had been quite surprised to learn that the grooms had been switched. He really had meant for Hiccup to be the one she wed, but Hiccup pointed out that the translation was vague and required only a _'viking of the Elite'_. So it was justified that Hiccup had met the terms of her contract fairly. Though, through the Lord's disdain, Snotlout's own wedding was delayed even further by a week.

The Lord was distraught at first of the arrangement but over the days saw Snotlout would be worthy of his daughter as a high Viking commander and also a relation of the Chief, so allowed it. Besides, Hiccup was already married by the time the Celts arrived and they could do nothing about it.

The whole village had been slightly scandalized to find out that Hiccup had given _Rock Girl_ to Snotlout in secret, but only slightly—they could all see plain as day Hiccup only had eyes for Astrid. A happy Chief made a happy village. When the fact went widely public, they had a far grander and jovial wedding prior to Snotlout and _Rock Girl's_ by a month.

Lord MacVaren—or _MacDaddy_, as 'Lout referred to his father-in-law behind his back—stayed awhile to work out a new and unheard of alliance with the new Chief. Now that _Rock Girl_ was a part of the Viking Culture, they couldn't just go raiding her people if they pleased and were obligated to fight with the Celts if anyone else thought to attack the Southern Islands. Snotlout also received a good amount of wealth as part of _Rock Girl_'s dowry—_MacDaddy_ indeed. All 'Lout wanted was the daughter but the wealth didn't hurt at all—it actually provided more than enough to pay for the new lodge built for the newlyweds.

_MacDaddy_ called into question the use of dragons for military endeavors but Hiccup refused flat out to endanger them. They were their own beings, not slaves—and not a means to and end. That put tension on their relations somewhat but by the end of the week they at least had a trade agreement. Snotlout knew because he had attended the meetings, it was a perk to know the inner-happenings of Berk.

_Rock Girl_ hadn't spoken a word of Viking to or around her father the entire length of his stay and it caused 'Lout to wonder if her father knew at all or paid enough attention to notice his daughter's abilities. Or perhaps she hid it from her father for reasons unknown.

_So he stared at her, the candlelight flickering across her face and casted shadows—waiting for her answer. Her usual bright, beautiful eyes narrowed and she bit her lip in thought. She opened her mouth with a sudden frown, hesitated, as if remembering something unpleasant "A Viking taught me."_

_He was rather startled of her answer as he knew hardly any Viking would be willing to be so close to a Celt without wanting to kill them, much less teach them—well in the years past. Now it was slowly changing, they were integrating. Some of the Vikings even opted to stay and settle in the Southern Islands. It was warmer, wetter, and the women were witty. _

_Still, she would have had to have months to practice to become fluent—and it didn't seem possible that before the raid anyone would willingly give a single lass lessons in phonetics. His thoughts weren't the most coherent and he didn't press his wife further because she grabbed at his shoulders so they could go back to their previous activity._

_That night he forgot his promise like all of the rest he made under the influence, and in the morning when she actually reminded him—although he didn't see how she could have remembered if he hadn't—he duly blamed it on the mead and assured he would remember next time._

Truth be told, he avoided using '_Brynna_' if at all possible. He called her everything else by habit, and it was hard to break a habit and call someone what he'd never called them before. He never thought of her as '_Brynna' _because_ 'Brynna'_ wasn't his wife, '_Brynna' _was the Celtic girl who was trapped into an arranged marriage due to a Viking's negotiations, she was the prisoner of her own melancholy and anger at not having control over her own life completely.

_Rock Girl_ was the girl he met, had fallen for, who was a lady of sly mischief who knew how to push his buttons and still make him laugh—even _Bryn_ was happy and willing.

He wondered why she would try to hold on to that part of herself drenched in bad memories, and why she was suddenly less content to be called all her nicknames.

"Husband!" she chirped forcefully on a mid-autumn morning as he dressed for the day. He turned as she was giving him a sultry eye from where she lay in their bed. Their honeymoon had ended awhile ago but it still felt like it was still going on. Her smile was tempting but he merely laughed heartily and kissed her on her forehead, "Get out of bed babe, there's stuff to do today."

"Like what? Sell your fish?"

"For starters," he snorted, not that he would have time. He had to be at the docks to check on incoming vessels.

"But there's so much! Your nightmare could catch the entire bay!" she exaggerated in a goran and rolled over to her back, letting her arms dangle over her head and off the side of the bed. He gave a grunt of amusement at her—she was making a tangle in the linens even without him to help.

"Well…I suppose you could deliver a basket to Astrid and Hiccup as a gift. The rest will have to be sold."

The fish caught from the afternoon before were cooled in barrels in the cellar. _Rock Girl_ did not like touching the fish, she claimed they were slippery and unpleasant and he only could roll his eyes and tease her of her delicate upbringing as a Lord's daughter. Sometimes his taunts spurred her to do things she wouldn't have otherwise, just to prove him wrong.

Once she even milked a goat.

Though she wasn't all fragile as she seemed, her stubbornness could uproot a tree and she could handle rocks better than anyone he ever knew—whether it be skipping stones or using them to assault someone—she had perfect aim. She could sew. Most females knew the craft but his girl could _sew_—a skill she had gotten quite good at while being supervised by governesses her entire life—and though not as excellent in skill to the Widow Thorston, it was good to know that if the primary seamstress ever retired, Berk would be threaded in good hands.

"I can't take them to him, his _wife_ hates me," she protested about the fish. He heard her whines as he went to the basement to gather the fish in a basket.

"She shouldn't anymore," he called up—Astrid rarely _hated_ anything for long, though it sure seemed like she could. No, she only _intensely disliked _ a number of things.

"Then why does she always give me a horrible look when we cross paths?"

He finished loading the basket and returned to her. He gave a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed to tug on a remaining boot, "It's not just her, everyone will be weary of you for awhile—they just don't know you like I do. Someday they'll understand how awesome you are."

"They came to our wedding."

"Because it was a diplomatic wedding and I am the chief's commander, it would be in bad form not to pay respects."

Her shoulders sulked. He knew it was hard for her but he gave her another quick kiss on the cheek. "I will take the fish to the chief's lodge if you sell the rest at the docks today. I will see you soon after, when I arrive to check on vessels."

"Sounds like a compromise," she raised a brow—"Speaking of which, you haven't yet said my na—."

"I have to go. I will see you soon," he cut her off hurriedly, well on his way out the door with the basket of fish on his shoulder.

The autumn was a good season, his favorite. Most people preferred summer but there was that old nostalgic feeling that grasped him and it only did so when the leaves changed from green to red. He liked a predictable life, and embraced the Viking way. Only a few times in his life did he accept a drastic change to his lifestyle. The autumn reminded him of when he was young, those eager days of dwindling light and helping with the harvest. Though, near the latter part of the season a frost would set in as a brief warning they would be engulfed in a brilliant white cold. He didn't have any ill thoughts about the upcoming winter once he realized he could just stay snuggled into the bed covers with his wife on those icy cold mornings. _Being married is freaking awesome!_

Those men who humorously warned him before his marriage, that after a month he would be yearning to be single again were _so_ wrong.

He finally found himself at Hiccup's lodge and knocked on the door in wait. Astrid answered it looking a little worse for wear. Housekeeping probably didn't suit her.

"Hey," he smiled holding the basket of fish out to her.

"Hi," she gave a smile of greeting but took a sniff and covered her mouth sounding disgusted, "Oh great Odin, is that all _fish_?"

"Yeah, trout. Fireworm caught extra so I was gonna see if you and Hiccup wanted some."

"Sure," she said after a moment's hesitation and he handed her the basket. She retreated inside to set it down. Snotlout stepped in and looked around the place. She must have been weaving a rug or something by looks of the half-finished material hanging from the loom in the far corner of the main room.

"So where is Hiccup?"

"He left earlier—I think there was a property issue with a newborn lamb. Skorund the shepherd's ewe gave birth but it was on Gunnar the grower's land. Hiccup went to settle the matter."

Astrid suddenly looked a bit dizzy as she set herself to a chair at the dining table.

"You okay Ast?"

"Fine, just a little sick today—I think the fish from last night's dinner is causing me upset. I should get over it."

"Well, now you got a whole basketful of trout—those should be delicious," he smiled.

"Thank you 'Lout," she smiled again. He always enjoyed it when Astrid smiled—she was usually so serious and focused and it was good to know she could let herself relax.

He paused, realizing she was probably his oldest friend, even older than Tuffnut so asked, "Could I ask you a favor?"

"What?"

"Well, my wife—she thinks you hate her and I was just wondering if the next time you ever cross paths with her, could you smile at her the way you're smiling at me now—I think it would make her feel better."

Astrid looked offended, "She thinks I hate her?"

"Do you?"

"No, I hardly know her!"

"Maybe you should get together for tea or something. I think you'd like her—she reminds me of you sometimes." Astrid raised a doubtful brow and he retreated back to the entrance, "Well I'm off to the docks, you have a pleasant day and feel better soon."

"See you later," he heard her call in a thoughtful tone as he departed.

He whistled as he walked down the hill to the docks. It was a great day to be outside—a picturesque autumn day. He took in a breath and started a new tune, stopping every so often to greet familiar faces or give directions to the visiting Vikings who were docked and looking for the forge or the tavern.

He stepped lightly across a roped bridge that led to the cliff face, which had a winding path to the bay. Already he could smell the sea air, being brought up by the wind. It smelled of salt and fish and he was one of the few that actually liked that kind of scent. As he made his way down, he counted four new ships from his vantage point. It looked like two had departed earlier. He saw the dock vendors and could make out _Rock Girl_ as an auburn blob, holding out a fish. Ha, so she did obey him and work up enough nerve to touch them. When he neared, he saw she wasn't alone.

Astrid's brother, Sven was right next to her smiling and talking, and naturally flirting. This fired Snotlout into a dangerous fury, and he all but marched forward, also making them out to be speaking in Celtic at one another. It just made him more jealous and angry—knowing it was something he could never do with her.

"Svenan!" he growled.

"Snotlout, forcing poor Brynna to sell fish this day?" Sven looked up and had the remnants of a teasing smile.

_Rock Girl_ dared crack a grin. Snotlout found nothing humorous about the situation.

"I take it you have nothing better to do than to hassle married women this day?" Snotlout snapped. Sven knew they had been wed, he acted as translator at the wedding—seeming to have become one of _MacDaddy_'s favorites while he stayed in the south. One of many reasons he deserved the title _Svenan the Suave_.

Sven held up his hands innocently, but Snotlout knew there was nothing innocent about Svenan Hofferson, especially when it came to pretty females.

"I was merely conversing, ask her yourself." He angled his neck and turned his head to ask her, "Brynna, did I try to seduce you?"

Snotlout didn't appreciate the man's patronizing tone or the way he kept saying her name.

"Not today," she raised a brow thoughtfully—_if not today he could tomorrow or the next_ and that thought was all it took for Snotlout to lunge forward and grab the insolent playboy by his vest.

"Be gone!"

"Do you own the docks, Jorgenson?"

"Do you know who you're dealing with? I am the high commander, now get your rear outta here, Hofferson."

He let go, and Svenan regained composure, "Fine, but remember who I am and who my sister is and _who_ she is married to."

Snotlout grunted and watched through a scowl until Sven left the docking area.

_Rock Girl _gave a light chuckle, "Do you ever suppose you are _too_ protective of me?"

He whirled on her, not in the mood and his words came out tersely, "We will discuss this later at home. Continue what you were doing."

His command warranted him a frown and he turned to continue forth to do his assigned task, checking in the new vessels, but felt something hit him. He turned and saw a dead fish at his feet. He looked up and spotted _Rock Girl_ walking away with the basket of unsold fish.

"Bryn!" he called angrily and breathed in deep to his chest, only to shout a breath louder, "_BRYN_!"

"It's BRYN-_NA_!" she whirled around and screamed, her freckles sharp and her curls untamed. She gave him a particularly nasty look before just as quickly turning around and continuing on her way.

He was so angry and he couldn't even go after her because he was already late to checking the new ships in. It didn't help circumstances that the villagers, vendors and visitors were staring at him from all the shouting. He threw his hands up in an angry growl and went about his business, though thoughts of Sven and his wife occupied his mind furiously.

Sven had been so familiar toward her, even calling her by the name that Snotlout did not. Did he think he could get away with that behavior just because he was brother to the Chief's wife? Snotlout was even jealous that Sven could speak her native tongue, already they could share secrets and that ability alone probably increased the chances of her to be attracted to him as the numerous other females were.

Suddenly there was a puzzle in his mind, he was struggling to solve—barely remembering her to say a Viking had taught her their language. What if Svenan wasn't just being Svenan, what if Svenan had known her previously? It was known that he traveled a lot and he had been gone for a nearly a year before the spring after last—enough to stay in one place and possibly teach a language and in turn learn another—_even seduce a number of women_.

Snotlout's eyes bulged, suddenly recalling those smiles _Rock Girl_ had thrown at Svenan the day of the raid negations. He had chalked it up to a mere pull of attraction but now suspected it was because they had known each other at that time.

His fists crunched with anger and hurt, feeling betrayed, and he hurriedly finished conversing and checking with the docked vessels and their captains. Time couldn't have gone slower as he did his duty—he wanted to find his wife and voice his concerns.

He nearly burst the door to his lodge open when he entered.

"_Bryn_, where are you?"

He should have looked before he had asked for she was there to his side and seemed to be taking another try at bread-making.

She only looked at him, didn't say a word and continued to knead the dough on the tabletop.

Was this how it was going to be? A month of nothing but absolute perfect and then a downward spiral to marriage oblivion?

"Damn it, answer me! I'm your husband!" He slammed his hand on the table.

"Change your tone and maybe we can talk," she sassed and looked at her dough instead.

He grabbed her away from her activity, though he wouldn't hurt her—just felt like chiding her for her disobedience and for causing a scene. However he was shocked to feel a sharp slap to his face. A hand-print of flour imprinted his cheek.

"Stop it! You're acting like an animal. I swear to the Daghdha your head falls off every time you feel the need to protect me. You don't realize I can very well tell other men off."

He rubbed his face, still stung, and accused, "Yeah, but not Svenan. Why shouldn't I lose my head? You spent a year with him and neglected to say anything about it."

Her scowl lifted to surprise, "How do you know that?"

So it was truth. She had _lied_.

"I figured it out. He had to have been the one that taught you how to speak this language. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't important."

It _was_ important though—to him.

"Do you love him?"

She gave him an incredulous look, "Of course not. It's _you_ that I love—" she crossed her arms and added smartly "I married you didn't I?"

"Yeah, because you really didn't have a choice! How can you even love me if you lied to me?"

"How can you love me when you don't even call me my own name?"

He winced at her venom, but avoided the answer, still suspicious.

"_Did_ you love him?"

Her arms dropped, and she gave a disheartened sigh which caused his own heart to drop from the high it had felt the previous months.

"I thought I did. He was a handsome, charming, foreigner and brought knowledge and stories from across the sea—and I was young and bored, how could I resist?"

Snotlout nodded with devastation, feeling miserably inadequate and felt the first cracks wrench into his chest. She saw it, lost her frown, stepped forward and took his hands in hers, "I didn't know you existed until the day you chased away those crude Vikings—I learned there were better men and you cannot say you haven't ever loved another girl before I came along. Believe me, you are the only for me."

He only sniffed, wishing he could believe her. He released one of her hands and wiped the flour from his cheek. Her hand lifted and turned his head to make him look at her again. She had lied to him, what was truth now?

"Listen to me, Hiccup asked me _who_ I would have if given the choice, and out of anyone in the world I named _you_. _You—_Snotlout. Not anyone else and not _Svenan_. I certainly did have a choice."

He glanced at the silver ring on her finger and knew she was right; he had loved another before her—Astrid. So he couldn't condemn her for a previous love. And though she claimed she had no lingering feelings for the wretched flirt, 'Lout was still jealous they had spent far more time together. To rid himself of it, he thought of a reason to why he was superior to Sven.

"Even though we both fought in the raid, I was the one that ended up saving you from those jerks."

Her eyes narrowed, "What?"

"I protected you even then. I think I'm always going to be that way."

"Yes," she answered and let go of his hands, drawing back, "but Svenan was in the raid?"

He didn't like how she was fixating her concern on another man, it caused him to doubt her previous words. "Well, yeah. He is a _Viking_ and it was before the negotiations. I saw him out in the fortress courtyard myself, taking out the last line of defense. "

She seemed to halt all movement, weighing a consideration with a sudden dark look about her. He had never seen her face in such an expression, and in all honesty, never wanted to again.

"There's something you ought to know, " she let a torrid breath escape. She stepped forward and lifted on her toes to reach his ear and she whispered something—a truth that was absolutely shocking though made every bit of perfect, tragic sense to him. Her words changed everything but if he could take anything positive from them, it was that he knew without a doubt, she loved him the best.

"I'm sorry," she withdrew herself but he caught her.

"No, I'm sorry," he swallowed his rage and wrapped his arms around her and still couldn't get over the feeling of how wonderful she felt in them—of how he could completely engulf her in one embrace. He shouldn't have doubted her love and never wanted a reason for her to doubt his—"Brynna."

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*Edit: There is also a cute and lovely artwork of Snotlout and Brynna up on my DA account now, for those interested.


	2. Her Uncertainty

Thoughts upon waking were usually never sensible, or coherent, and most of them a usual a flash of memory from the dreams of the night before, that would soon drift away and be forgotten.

Her eyes fluttered open, forced awake—the time for sleeping was over with and something inside Astrid was stinging her stomach, a sudden ache that made her whole body uncomfortable. Her consciousness reacted immediately. She threw back the quilts and stumbled down the stairs, bleary eyed, to the door where she was just in time to spill her sick into the grass outside.

When she was done heaving she shakily stood up, noting the unfavorable flavor of fish in her mouth. Her tongue felt sticky, and she had lost her entire appetite of her usual early hunger.

_I should have never let Hiccup cook that salmon_, she thought—knowing that was the reason for her stomach's upset.

He had wanted to please her, to surprise her the night before by preparing dinner—a sweet gesture—but there was just something _off _with the fish. She just didn't want to demean his efforts but if the result was her waking up before dawn to vomit, then she might have to reconsider in telling him to never cook again.

She took in a breath of that crisp autumn air, knowing that in a few hours the sun would shed light on the brilliant view of Berk nestled into a grove of vivid reds, oranges, and golds. For now though, it was dark and only that smell of autumn—of heavy pine and juniper—was evident to her senses.

She returned inside the lodge and dipped her hands in a water basin to cleanse them of the dirt or any filth that they had acquired while she held herself up. She lit a small candle to see more clearly her way around the bedroom. Yawning, she stretched her arms over her head and took a look around her . Toothless was curled up on the cold floor—but not for long, Astrid had been working on weaving a rug for their room for some time so Toothless could sleep more comfortably. She looked to her bed, her husband was sleeping quite soundly despite all her noise as well.

_Husband_, the word brought a secret, giddy smile to her lips—no matter if he undercooked the fish. A season ago the possibility seemed unattainable, and now it was reality—a reality she didn't know how she could have ever lived without.

He was sleeping on his side, his hair partially swept over his eyes and his mouth was hanging open. They had been wed since the summer and now at mid-autumn they lived a comfortable life together in a new lodge at the top of the hill. Just her, him, and the dragons. Astrid loved it. She loved being on her own, she loved being with Hiccup—in the elite of the Vikings, and she loved being his wife. She stretched herself across the bed and swept back his hair to kiss him on the forehead.

His mouth closed, acknowledging the movement—and it transformed into a small smile. His arms reached out and curled around her, drawing her closer and she let him, taking comfort in the warmth of his body. These moments were perfect and she wished them to last forever.

She had fallen back asleep unintentionally, that comforting warmth around her was at fault for her drowsiness. Hiccup rose eventually and took Toothless with him. His agenda was busy that day, for he had taken on all of Stoick's responsibilities plus the new changes he had to oversee now that the Chieftainhood had passed to him since their wedding. Although they all knew someday it would happen and they never had wanted it to—now most were happy it was so.

That left Astrid with taking the mid morning to visit her mother. She walked down the hill with a basket of fish toward the structure she used to live in as a girl—having that odd sensation wash over her again that she was now completely an adult; she had fought in a battle, she had been wed—there was no doubt she had moved past her girlhood. Still, it would be nice to have no cares. She took pleasure in crunching some of the fallen leaves in her path, the closest feeling to her carefree girlhood she could be again.

Her deadly Nadder had joined her, prancing next to her, puffed out regally as if she were on a parade and was being watched by everyone that passed. That was just a Nadder's nature—vanity. Astrid reached into the basket and tossed up one of the slippery trout where her dragon caught it in her jaw and let it slide down her throat. Astrid's stomach gave a turn and she put her hand to her mouth, smelling the fish on her skin and just a little bit of lingering sick found its way to her mouth. She spit it out into the bushes, hating that stinging flavor. She was now convinced Hiccup had accidentally given her food poisoning with the ebb and flow of nausea in her. Her Nadder bent down to sniff Astrid and made an unprecedented chrip of excitement.

"No, no more for you," she replied, figuring her dragon wanted more fish—after all, why else would the firebeast have followed her?

She was bringing the basket of fish as a gift to her parents. Snotlout had caught them but he had too much so instead of selling them down at the docks or trading them, he had given a basket to his friends—one basket was more than enough for Astrid however. She could barely keep from gagging after that morning with the smell about the house so decided to re-give the gift. Her father was working in the fields for harvest, her brother—Svenan—was somewhere about the village now that he had returned, but her mother was home.

"Darling," her mother cooed at seeing Astrid in the threshold.

"Mother," Astrid replied kissing the woman on the cheek, "I have fish for you and father."

"Excellent, thank you."

Astrid's stomach rumbled, threatening to spill once more at thinking of the trout. She set down the basket on the table and made a pained face and willed the feeling of nausea to end. Her mother gave her an odd look.

"My stomach is sick, Hiccup must have under-cooked the fish."

Her mother gave her a long looking-over, suddenly serious, "You are ill?"

"No, it just happened this morning. I feel fine for the most part, but I've had an off-and-on nausea all day, I'm food poisoned."

"Astrid dear, that's not just the symptom of food poisoning."

"What?"

Now her mother was grinning, "I assume you share your husband's bed often enough, did you not consider it a possibility that you are with child?"

Astrid's eyes widened, and she felt a bit dizzy at her mother's conclusion, "I'm not preg—"

"Perhaps not, but your symptoms are common enough for that of a pregnancy. You will know for sure if it persists and if you cease to bleed."

With that statement, her mother smiled fully and kissed her daughter on the cheek once more. As she pulled away, Astrid grabbed her and hugged her tightly—due to a growing fear of the unknown. Her mother chuckled and said, "Oh lovely, don't be scared—motherhood is a rewarding experience that I don't doubt you can handle."

"But—but it's not for certain right? It still could be that Hiccup can't cook for all Nidhoggr's gold?"

"It's not for certain," her mother nodded, but she could see the secret smile that her mother possessed, telling Astrid that she would be delighted to see a grandchild in the near future. Astrid bid her mother farewell and headed back home.

Her mother had unintentionally shocked her. Astrid was well aware—but had not given it considerable thought—about the consequences of love-making. There was talk about it before her wedding from all of her female relatives and the elder women of Berk, but Astrid's mind was too frenzied that day to even hear their words. Intimate nights with Hiccup were exhilarating, pleasurable and like her wedding day, her mind was wrapped up in the moment, not worried with whether or not his seed had planted. She could tell Hiccup's thoughts were even further away from the possibility of children in those moments. They hadn't even discussed children—they both knew it would happen eventually as it was only natural—but she didn't think so soon. Most newlyweds didn't even conceive in the first six months, could she possibly be _that_ fertile?

Her stomach rumbled again.

"Hush," she scolded it out loud.

She was so very content where she was in life. She was married to a great and clever man, a fair lover, one who made her laugh and treated her as an equal. They lived a thoroughly lovely life, but would a child ruin that established happiness? Perhaps _ruin_ was a harsh word, she might have just been afraid of the change a little one would bring. And it was such a new kind of fear she didn't know how to make herself feel brave about it.

She held her stomach and pressed her hands against it, not knowing what to feel for if anything was growing inside her. Now the uncertainty of it was daunting, causing her to be anxious. She fell against her nadder who made a crooning noise of comfort, sensing Astrid's anxiety. She reached up and pulled on her dragon's facial spikes so she could look into the yellow eyes, "Should I tell Hiccup even though it is not for certain?"

Of course, her dragon could not answer for her, it was ultimately Astrid's decision.

A jerky movement caught the corner of her eye and she spotted Brynna stomping a path toward the lodge she shared with Snotlout from the direction of the docks. Brynna had a furious scowl and for a brief moment their eyes met. Astrid gave a small smile but the lass only continued to glare as she continued forward, which caused Astrid to wonder if maybe the Celtic lass was the one who despised her.

She didn't feel like eating. Instead she went about her business at her lodge, thinking of what to do if she really were with child. How did one know? She was much too impatient to wait for the bleeding phase or the lack of one.

Later, she sat in bed, it was dark again for daylight turned shorter and even shorter in the autumn. She had woven more of the rug that afternoon. She had prepared dinner too, but without feeling sick, which was a good sign. She made sure the fish was thoroughly cooked. Hiccup had smiled at her all the while, telling of his day but often jumping from topic to topic with the attention span of a sparrow, which she noticed he did often when he was excited. They were building new ships, establishing trade routes, settling property issues among other things.

She couldn't listen though, not fully, and not with thoughts of children on her mind. She wondered what he thought about it, _really_ thought—for he had never truly talked about the subject. Before they had gone to bed, Toothless started sniffing around her—seeing if she would bend and give him any table scraps but he made the oddest of dragon-sounds at considering her. Hiccup looked at the night fury in a puzzled way, never hearing that noise come from Toothless before in the years he had known him.

"No, none for you," Astrid laughed and avoided the wide-eyed begging of the Night Fury. It was amazing how such a feared and deadly creature could suddenly look so harmless and trustworthy. Instead Toothless let out a breath, accepting he wouldn't get the morsels that night, and curled himself comfortably in front of the hearth that was lightly alit.

Hiccup had blown out the candle a few moments after they settled into the blankets and then she felt the familiar gentle walking of his fingertips across her thigh, signaling he wanted the night to be an intimate one. That was another thing she loved about him, he did not take her roughly when he was in the mood, even though it was his right—he, in his own way asked for her permission first. She grabbed his fingers and rolled over so their fronts were facing, "What do you think about children?"

There was an awkward silence, she had obviously ruined his mood and regretted it for she wanted nothing more than to please him, but the issue had been nagging at her all day.

She heard him take a uneasy gulp, "In what context?"

"As in 'us'. What do you think about _us_ having a child?"

She began to play with his fingers while waiting for an answer, a nervous knot in her chest that grew every second he was silent. She couldn't see in the darkness, only feel the mild calluses of his fingers, the tough skin on the palms of his hands that had developed during his years at the forge.

"Are _you_ pregnant?" He finally asked, it was spoken quiet—a near nervous whisper but in a tone full of wonder. He must have finally figured out the reason for her sudden concern on the issue.

She sighed, "It's not for certain."

His fingers tightened at once and grasped hers, interlocking through them. His other hand closed around her waist and pulled her closer. She felt his lips on her cheek, and then again on her neck, also the brushes of his beard tickled on her skin.

"I have faced many challenges so far in life but fatherhood is one that I'd welcome," he murmured in all earnest against her.

All the anxiety that had been building up in her melted, knowing he would make a happy father. She giggled at the tickle of his facial hair and nervous relief before she found his lips and kissed them with fervor.

After a moment he broke it, breathless, "But you said it is not for certain?"

"No, it might be merely that you undercooked the fish last night."

There was another silence and she held in a laugh at imagining his certain sheepish look of guilt.

"Really? I'm sorry," he mumbled and withdrew himself entirely, probably feeling guilty for her causing her sickness or wounded at his failed meal preparations.

She wasn't having it, she crawled onto his chest, feeling the breath from his mouth warm on her skin, "Would you like a girl or a boy?"

"What?"

"For your child."

"Either would be fine, and if we have one we can always have another," he replied after considering.

She scoffed, she may have not remembered entirely what the ladies said about love-making but she _did _ remember those stories of new mothers in the village. Babies hurt—and maybe that was another reason she had been fearful when her mother suggested she was with child. It wasn't uncommon for a newborn to take the mother's life in route to having it's own.

Hiccup wrapped his arms around her whilst she pondered in silence, "What's wrong?"  
She laid her head onto his chest with a sigh, "I'm afraid."

She never readily admitted her fears, perhaps it was a matter of pride or bravery but it was one thing she had in common with the Nadder and her friends could attest to it.

"It's not for certain," Hiccup reminded her and gave her a quick kiss before letting her go and laying back into the pillows to sleep, she felt his hand smooth out the hair from in front of her eye, "and even if it was—I know you are the bravest, strongest woman in the world and I would be there for you the entire time, and do anything for you."

His words made her feel better about it, though her stomach wasn't feeling well again—causing her to consider that maybe it was more certain than not, but either way their conversation had changed their relationship to something much more deeper.

Change was inevitable, after all if not now, in the next few seasons they would surely have children and they would have to face that change a child would bring anyhow—good or bad. The one _good_ thing she knew would never change though was that constant of the russet-haired Viking laying next to her.

"Hiccup?"

"Hm?" He was already falling asleep, apparently not in the mood to have her anymore with their talk of babies. Good, she was feeling rather sleepy anyway.

"I love you."

She didn't say it often, figuring her actions could speak louder than words and that he knew it already. No point in being redundant, but the moment seemed like just one of those times she could truly be tender in voicing it. It was her way of thanking him for being so good.

An arm, surprisingly caught her from behind and pulled her closer yet, "Back 'atcha, _wife_."

It was said in a tone of endearing humor but still didn't make her pleased to be addressed in such a way. Before she could sternly reprimand him, she felt a resolute smacking of lips against her forehead. Okay, she could let it slide this one time.

She yawned and settled her head in that perfect spot to sleep, not a pillow, but Hiccup—the nook of his shoulder, right below his neck. She came to accept that these perfect moments would not last forever but she took comfort in knowing there would always be new and even better ones to share.

* * *

**A/N:** Well is she or isn't she? :P


	3. Carry on, Wayward Son

_Eight tunics. Six breeches. Ten pairs of socks. Under-layers. Extra vest. Winter covering. Mittens. Biscuits. Pouch of silver saved from working the harvest._

Tuff's mind ran through the list of items he had stuffed into a pack. He wiped an annoying piece of long blonde hair from his eye as he made sure everything was there.

_Helmet_.

He reached for his helmet that hung on his bedpost and placed it on his head.

Didn't know if he'd need it but it was good to be prepared, besides he really liked his helmet. It was pointy and made him look cool.

He pulled the cord that tightened the pack's opening and then threw it around his shoulders, supporting the weight on his back.

He had always told himself he would get away from Berk someday, he had always had the desire. He knew it was his home and that it'd always have a place in his heart but the adventurous part of him knew he was doing the right thing.

_Leaving_.

It wasn't just because he couldn't successfully catch the attentions of any females in the village. The village lacked the dangerous thrill that he constantly craved. That feeling if thinking on your feet during a dragon attack was what he lived for though now dragons were nearly harmless to the village. He had gotten a taste of it during the Spring Raid but knew now that Hiccup was Chief, those kind of options were disappearing. So he would have too seek thrills elsewhere.

Berk needed a new head explorer, an emissary and Tuffnut jumped at the opportunity to travel. He would visit new places, face more dangers, meet new people and maybe even find a girl. He had hope. All his friends had either been married or were in courtships, which reminded Tuff he was a dreadful late bloomer in the romance department.

He sighed and knocked on his sister's door before he passed it.

He heard a mumble and a rustle and then she answered it, unsurprisingly grumpy, "Why are _you_ waking me _up_ so early?"

"The sun has risen," he pointed out behind her trough the window. She turned her head with a tender wince at the dull daylight.

"Like you can tell, it's still plenty dark."

"Anyway, I'm leaving now. I was saying goodbye."

"Bye."

He frowned at her as she abruptly closed the door on him. She was not a sentimental human being whatsoever so he didn't know why he expected something more. Maybe she was glad to be rid of him for awhile, after all they had been stuck with each other since birth.

He was kind of tired of her too.

He shrugged and turned away but heard the door open again from behind him. Then long arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly and a chin dug into his shoulder, "Watch out for vicious sea dragons."

The embrace was short-lived and replaced with a punch to his back and he whirled around, ready to return the latter gesture but she had retreated back into her room and not without the lock of her door.

His mother was at the hearth and boiling water to mix with grain meal for morning porridge.

"Bye Mom."

"You're already leaving?"

"Yeah the vessel departs at morning tide."

"Sit down and eat, young man! I'm not having you depart on an empty stomach," she chided sternly which forced him to reluctantly take a seat at the table. He laid his chin in the palm of his hand impatiently.

"I would like for you to take your father's shield on your journey."

He balked, "You barely even let me or Ruff touch it much less _use_ it."

She ignored his remark, "It's old but it's strong. It never was split in any of the battles your father fought in and my Ivan fought in plenty of battles."

"So it's invincible, just like dad was?" Tuff grinned, turning to look at it—the broad, wooden cover encased with a metal band.

"As you shall be," she smiled and set a bowl of porridge in front of him. He ate quickly despite the heat of it burning his tongue. He really didn't want the ship to leave without him.

"I have to go now," he stood and adjusted his pack.

"Do you have all your clothes?"

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, and thanks for sewing all of them."

She smiled, stood, and embraced him, "Only the best for my boy."

"Mom, stop coddling me—I'm eighteen years old, I am a _man_."

"If you so say," she laughed and gave him two kisses, one on each cheek. "I shall miss you."

He felt an overwhelming sense of love for the lady and all she had ever done for him so enclosed his arms around her, burying his jaw into her shoulder despite the action lessening the appearance of his tough exterior.

"I'll miss you too, Mom."

He pulled away and saw her wipe a light tear. At least she wasn't sobbing and clingy like other mothers he knew of in the village.

"Don't start fights, only finish them."

"I'll try."

"Don't drink too much."

"I'll try."

_Bottle of Ale._ That was an item, secretly hidden in his pack.

"Make sure to bathe."

He didn't promise anything there. All bathing ever did was get him clean, and nothing else. He grabbed his father's shield off it's place above the hearth and carried it on his arm. With his free hand, he threw a wave at his mother and left his lodge.

It was a misty kind of morning, no wonder the daylight seemed low. A fog was settled on the village—clung to him with a slight chill. The last of autumn's leaves were struggling to hold onto their branches—leaving bare and twisted stems at every sight. It was an indication to a fast approaching frost.

His vessel would travel west toward the continent—a place told not to be surrounded by endless blue and full off other manners of beasts, foods, and people he could only imagine.

He made his way through the village and stopped at the Dragon high rise—a structure built for the scaly inhabitants of Berk. A few dragons were left, curled up together for warmth in the hay-lined perches. All the other dragons had started migrating back to the volcanic island to hunker down for the approaching winter. Dragons hated the cold and there wasn't enough room in Berk to keep them all comfortable.

"Right! Left!" he called and a pair of winded, green necks, snaked out of a perch and regarded him. He was glad they were still around to say goodbye to.

"I'm going away for awhile, so Ruff is gonna have to keep you entertained," he reached out and set his hand on the front horn of the left head of the Hideous Zippleback—the one that was more partial to agreeing with Tuffnut. Right-head stared on with bulging, slitted eyes—seeming indifferent. Right hardly ever acknowledged Tuff unless he was annoying it. Left seemed to know Tuff's indications and made a disheartened grumble, bumping him hard in the arm with a blunt snout.

"Don't worry, if she gets too bossy you can zap her," Tuff laughed. Right-head opened their mouth and green, noxious gas seeped out, tinting the whit haze surrounding them.

"Just not too hard," he added to appease Right but gave the left head a knowing wink. "See you guys on the flipside!"

He went past the market, across the bridge and down the winding path to the docks.

Snotlout was already there, as it was his duty to oversee the vessels in and out of the waterfront—but 'Lout also knew this was the day his best friend was leaving.

Tuff had his father's knack for military prowess but even so, Snotlout was still the one to snag the high commander gig. Tuff was chosen over 'Lout to commanded a faction in the raid and because of him, the Vikings managed to break through the enemy's fortress walls. Though Tuff was extremely bitter at first of Snotlout's life promotion his jealousy had calmed because Snotlout _would_ have been chosen for such a powerful position despite Tuff's contributions; 'Lout was _elite_ while Tuff was but a simple warrior.

He stopped in front of the high commander and set down his pack and father's shield.

"Hopefully your ship can get through this and to the continent before it snows."

It would be the last vessel out of Berk for the season. It was too dangerous to travel afterwards for the water further north would begin to freeze and slowly expand toward their own bay. They calculated a couple of weeks for a vessel to reach the coast of the continent, that is, if the water and wind didn't reach wild proportions. The ocean was a slippery, unpredictable thing.

"If I get stuck on the ice, I'll just walk across it to the land."

They shared a laugh at the ridiculous image of Tuff snowshoeing his way across the frozen ocean.

"Well this is it, huh bro?" Snotlout waved out to the great wide beyond.

Tuff shrugged, "For awhile. I don't know how long, but I'll definitely make it back here—it's home you know?"

"Yeah, what a home."

They gave each other an abrupt buddy hug of farewell and then high-fived to keep their masculinity in tact.

"Don't be a lady killer!" Snotlout called as he moved on to the next vessel slated to depart.

_I'm not a Svenan Hofferson,_ Tuff thought but didn't dare speak it, especially in front of 'Lout.

Though if he picked up as many women as Svenan was legend to have, he would die a happy man.

Tuffnut lifted his pack and was about to make his way on board the narrow snekkja but there was a faint voice calling his name. He paused squinting out into the fog at the dock. Boot soles could be heard pattering against the wooden planks and then there suddenly emerged his young charge he had spent the summer with.

"Harkin?"

She kicked him in his leg, furiously.

"You're _leaving_!"

"I _told_ you I was leaving!" He rubbed his knee, not expecting her assault to hurt so much, but hey—she _had_ learned from the _best._

"Okay, first of all I didn't believe you and secondly, even so—you were going to leave without even saying goodbye!"

He felt just a bit guilty at the hurt in her voice. He owed it to her to say a farewell.

He had spent a majority of his summer teaching her useful skills. She was the best kind of student, listened to all of his directions when he had taught her how to build a basic slingshot, set a trap for boars or cliff goats, how to wrestle an opponent and be the victor. She had become very valued to him but why hadn't he even considered saying goodbye to her?

Probably because he knew she would be giving him that same doe-eyed look of disappointment for leaving her to her own devices.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I asked your Mom. It was a good thing I had a question about skinning this morning and decided to ask you or else you would have just disappeared!"

"What do you want to know about skinning?"

She took her dagger out of the sheath at her waist and held it, pantomiming holding an animal.

"I caught a rabbit yesterday and was going to cook it for supper last night but I realized I wanted to use the fur because I need a new pair of mittens. I was going ask your mom to make some with the rabbit fur but I didn't want to have to pay the tanner to do it for me so can you remind me if I cut at an upward angle or a low one to conserve the skin value?"

She had a positively amusing way of rambling out her wonder. He stood behind her and took her arm, positioning it against the imaginary animal, guiding it to show how it should be severed, "Cut at a downward angle—it avoids tears and keeps the fur from muddling."

The helmet she wore sagged down over her forehead some way but she pushed the front of it up and smiled, "Thanks!" then it dropped to a frown, "but you're still in trouble for not saying goodbye to me."

"Well, Goodbye. There, I said it."

She puffed out her cheeks, "When are you coming back?"

He didn't know—_couldn't_ know the exact time or date or duration.

"You'll never even know I was gone," he smiled and said instead.

She only lifted a doubtful brow.

"Come on Harkin, you'll be all right. I taught you everything I know—you should be able to take on everyone in Viking Training. Gobber is alright, he can teach you even more. You don't need me anymore, kid."

She paused in thought, "Gobber's lessons never make any sense."

She had a point. It was true.

"Well what's wrong then?" He asked only because he noticed her slumped shoulders and fixed frown.

She bit her bottom lip and then attacked him by latching onto his waist with a crushing embrace.

"Don't leave," she pleaded quietly, and it struck him with an understanding he hadn't ever thought about.

For the past two seasons he felt that he wasn't needed. His Sister, his mother, his best friend all seemed not to have use of him. They had their relationships, their hobbies, their lovers to keep them busy and so left Tuff alone and that was one driving factor that pushed him to make the decision to leave but now he realized that the skinny, thirteen-year-old had more need of him than anyone all along. She had lost her father and now she was losing he—who she looked up to—even admired. Someone was always seeming to be leaving Harkin behind.

"Hey," He moved her off and bent down and placed a hand on her shoulder, "I promise I'll be back. Until then I need you to stay here—take care of your mom, will you do that favor for me?"

"My dad said something like that to me before he left on a ship—he never returned."

She looked out at the foggy water, while digging the toe of her boot at a loose plank in the dock.

She must have been thinking of Hoark—she even now was wearing her father's helmet. Did she ever take that thing off? Harkin feared he wouldn't come back, and so was masterfully delaying him form boarding his ship.

"I could come with you!" She said suddenly.

Her declaration startled him. His lack of a discouraging response fueled her into an encouraging smile, "I like adventure too! I can go home and get something to pack! Just hold the boat!" She was already off into the fog in her excitement.

"Harkin! No!" he shouted after her but she must have ignored it.

He grumbled and hastily boarded. As much as he would have liked the little brunette's company, she had a widowed mother who would absolutely freak if her daughter turned up missing and besides he counted on there being dangers to where he was going. He might have loved those thrills but refused to let Harkin into them, no matter how adamantly she tried to convince him she could handle it.

"I'm the last one, let's lift anchor," Tuff threw his belongings into a chest and took a seat on it and grabbed an oar, his words directed at the shipmaster. He had agreed prior to work on the ship as a means of payment to be a passenger.

The other men—allied clansmen from other Viking Tribes across the Archipelago began to lift and do their part with rowing the vessel out of the bay. Once out of the bay they could release the sails to catch wind.

It took only awhile with the strong, sturdy strokes of the men and then, at the coxswain's halt, Tuff stood and glanced over the starboard edge, looking back toward the docks of Berk, which were smaller, harder to see through the mist. But he could make out a ball of a girl sitting on the edge of the pier with her face buried discouragingly in her knees.

_I'll be back sooner than you know, kid_. He thought, knowing she probably hated him for doing that to her—leaving. He couldn't have stayed for anyone because he had to fulfill his own needs. Besides, she would get over it—she would realize that Berk wasn't such a bad place to be, just like he had. She was much safer there, and they both knew it.

He cracked his knuckles and popped a few joints in his shoulders, prickled in anticipation for the changes and the unknown ahead. He was finally off on his own—not the twin—not known as one half of a whole—where he was going he would only be Tuffnut, and hopefully, the _world's deadliest weapon._

He took a last glance at a barely visible island, shrouded in haze—like it could have been a fading dream. No, he knew Berk was far from being a dream or a forgotten memory because he _would _come back. He had to. He knew that reason was because Berk was and always would be home.

* * *

**Quicknote:** This is later in the season if you couldn't tell :3 Tuff is finally going out and making his dreams happen!

*Edit - There is a drawing of Harkin in my DA gallery of you wanna look:)


	4. Some New Plans

Fishlegs had started his own business—well sort of. More specifically he had _decided_ to start his own business. It was hard to get into it if one had no place at the market. Not that Vikings with craft skills couldn't be successful from home—they got that way by word of mouth. Both his parents were sought for their crafts and he admitted to himself it would have been easier to make business if he'd followed in either of their practices as the craft-reputation of the Master and Missus Ingerman were quality goods . Though he didn't set candles like his mother or bake bread like his father—he had no interest in those skills. Instead, Fishlegs carved tools and pieces found in everyday life. Sure metal was great and wood was common but _bone_—that's what made them cheaper than and more available than metalics, and also sturdier than wood. He cut bones down to form for any kind of thing—a pick, a loom shuffle, a comb frame, a candlestick holder—just an assortment of useful things. To preserve them he had mixed a concoction of pine resin, walnut oil, and pure ale and painted the bone so it had a hard finish to protect it. His knack for bone cutting started when he made his _Dens & Dwarves_ game dice, way back so long ago before he even had picked up a weapon to prepare for dragon training. In fact he could more confidently carve a bone object than wield a sword. Another thing he could do, and could offer it along with bone-cutting services, was book-binding. Not that people in the village appreciated a good book, most of them wouldn't have read while they were still alive.

He knew if he was going to get his business started, he needed a good reputation—maybe he could show off some of his works, set up a temporary worktable outside of his house so those who walked by might become curious. It wasn't much, but it was his business plan.

He easily carried the kitchen table outside and set it in front of his door. He gathered all the stuff he worked on from his messy basement. Between the candlesticks and all his _Dens & Dwarves_ gaming equipment he found a good collection of his bone-carved objects and hauled them upstairs in a basket. He displayed them by spreading them out on the tabletop and then stood behind it in wait.

Wodnesdæg was a good enough day as any to start some business.

He wasn't a shouter, which could have helped bring in some customers. Some of those merchants in the market just hollered at him until he was forced to go see what they were trying to sell him. He didn't like being pushy or rude though. He believed in that saying about attracting more flies with honey than vinegar.

"Whacher doing there, 'Legs?"

It came from Slugwing, one of the few intellectuals of Berk who was only in his second year of Viking training. Fish had tried getting him to play _Dens & Dwarves_ but Slugwing didn't have an ounce of imagination to handle the game.

"I'm selling bone objects—want to buy a bone carved buckle for your belt?" He pointed to one he had carved when waiting for his mother to vacate the basement recently.

"I don't need a belt buckle," Slug said practically, eying the rest of the merchandise—there was hope he might buy something."Would you take an order though?"

An order? That was even better than selling stuff at market—filling orders meant he could work from home at least until he saved enough to build or buy out a stall. He had to think of his future.

"Sure. It'd cost you a couple penningars, but what do you want made?"

"A capsule."

Fishlegs needed more information than that if he was going to fill an order.

"What for? How big?"

Slugwing considered the question, "Well I've been training Terrible Terrors to carry messages on their legs, but if it's bad weather the message is ruined, metal is too heavy and wood causes them to fidget. I think bone is light enough and won't erode with your varnish here—so one capsule made of this should be able to hold a message within it."

Fishlegs's curiosity overtook his will to sell things and he ended up chatting with Slugwing about the prospect of an inner-mailing system on the island. He even offered to carve a few bone-made message capsules free of charge and get together with Slugwing sometime to test the flight patterns of the trained Terrors.

As much as they liked theorizing, Sluwing informed him that he had to be off as he was apprenticed to Spitelout in hopes to learn medicinal alchemy.

That left Fish alone and still no one had bought a thing.

His thoughts turned to Ruffnut, which they often did, but he tried pushing them away. Thoughts of her drove him bonkers, and even more so since the summer. He didn't know where they were or what they were relationship-wise and he thought by kissing her it would bring some clarity.

It hadn't.

All that happened was she kissed him back and then told him she had nothing to wear home.

She must have known how he felt about her, nothing was clearer than that kiss he smacked on her. If she did know, she didn't give any indication, and he thought that was quite mean of her if that was the case.

After that night things remained the same between them, they still were 'courting' due to Ruffnut's desire to not have other men bothering her—the reasons were vague, she didn't elaborate on it but he hoped secretly it was because she only wanted Fishlegs himself. She was still the same Ruff, never giving a clue to her emotions and he lost his nerve completely around her to be able to just shake her and ask her what she thought of him.

He knew he really loved her despite all her little snags and if you loved a girl, even with all the snags, that was real love wasn't it? Ruff hurt his mind at times. But he still felt the same way and it only grew with every day he spent with her.

"What are you doing?"

His heard jerked upward at the sound of Ruffnut's voice. She had startled him. She had her hands on the table leaning forward and looking scrutinizingly at all the bone objects. She must have been relieved earlier than usual of her stitchery lessons by the Widow Thorston.

_I was thinking about you, you crazy woman that drives me crazy! _He screamed in his mind but did not dare say it as his nerve was lost.

"I'm—I'm selling stuff."

"Like a barter sale?"

"No, like a merchants stall!" He didn't appreciate her doubtful smirk.

"Where'd you get all this bone from anyway? You're not digging up buried vagrants are you? That's like 700 years bad luck and the rest of your life you will be haunted by their ancestors," she swiped the comb frame and ran her finger over the smooth surface—looking to consider it.

Fishlegs was pretty sure she was exaggerating of not blatantly about a 'curse' and a 'haunting.' Perhaps she was trying to scare him, which wasn't surprising but he was at least aware of it this time.

"No, I ask the butcher for the extra bones and if I need bigger ones I go out looking for them."

"Bone hunting eh? Kind of morbid."

"You're one to talk about morbid, you couldn't wait to kill everything you came across in Ireland."

Her scornful grin fell, and apparently he had stung her in someway—but she quickly covered it with an even rougher scowl of mockery before he could apologize. He remembered she was one that could hide all her emotions, especially if they made her feel vulnerable. Except that one time when she was half-crazed, half-starved and blubbering into him on the longboat last spring—he still didn't really know what to make of it so put it in his box of mental mysteries and moved on.

"Anyway—you're not going to sell a thing if you work like that," she came around and bumped him out of the way with her hip. She picked up a bone candle holder and then shouted, "Hey! You _need_ this candle holder! It's the best candle-holder on the island and there are no others like it! It won't shatter or chip and will hold all your melted candle without a mess! Buy it now and you could be eligible for a _free _book!"

Fish looked on in horror as people stopped and stared at the tall girl waving her arms about.

She was going to scare away what little business he would have had! He grabbed it from her and shooed her to the side. She laughed in that snickery way of hers and watched the damage.

But it wasn't damage at all.

"You say there's none like it? Well I'll be—this really is bone!" one of the villagers approached and examined it. "What a nice finish too!"

"I'll give you five penningars for it," a lady offered.

"No! I'll give you eight!" the initial customer bested.

"I'll trade you a chicken!" a random customer walked by and chimed in though Fish was sure that man didn't even know what he was trading for—as that one nodded and held up a hen by her neck feathers. The chicken clucked—maybe he just wanted to get rid of it for something.

"Eight penningars," Fishlegs nodded and handed over the candlestick holder while receiving his payment. The lady asked Fishlegs to make another one and she would pay eight as well, so he took her name and invoiced her.

He pocketed the silver penningars and glanced at Ruff.

"Told you. That's how you do business."

"How do you know? You don't have a business."

"I know that being loud gets you attention no matter what."

Her point was taken.

So he let her stand there and shout wonderful things about the objects and amazingly, people bought it. She was surprisingly flattering and eloquent with her rough voice but they bought her words and in turn, bought his bone-work as well.

He could only stare at her in a rather taken way as Ruff lured in customers. No one inquired about their eligibility for a free book. He didn't know why he hadn't told her stop making that offer. Eh, probably because no one wanted it.

"An eyrir?"

"What? He broke his stare, confused.

"Will you take an eyrir for the belt buckle?" A gruff Viking wondered.

"Oh sir, yes sir," Fishlegs nodded and made the transaction, noticing Ruff was giving him a suspicious eye. That wasn't good.

The air had gotten cooler, the number of people dwindled as suppertime drew near. A red leaf blew onto the table and he picked it up and twirled in-between his fingers by its stem.

"I think I sold everything," Fish looked at the empty table and said. Although he didn't remember ever actually selling that comb frame. He eyed Ruff suspiciously, figuring she must have taken it for herself. Even though it was stealing, he felt good knowing she had wanted something of his bad enough to do it. It was a kind of flattery to him.

"You mean _I _sold everything," Ruff corrected and yanked the eyrirpeice out of his hand.

"Hey! That's not yours!"

"Oh yes it is, it's commission, you wouldn't have sold a lick of your goods without _me_."

There was a lot of stuff, he realized, that wouldn't have been possible without Ruff. She caused him to want to be bolder despite the nervousness he felt whenever in her presence. She was the only one that played _Dens & Dwarves_ with him. She pushed him to his limits, and although in those moments he hated it, reflecting back he was glad she was the one to do it.

She stared at him with an expectant frown, in the case of commission. She was right. It was fair to pay her the work she did.

"Thanks," he said, his tone indicating she could keep it although she probably would have anyway.

"No problem, good to make some change off you," she laughed and gave a punch to his arm.

Comments like those are what made him doubt himself. Did she really only think of him as a tool for her own devices? A shield, a way to finance her?

Still, he logically argued that she did let him court her and for awhile now. She told people he was courting her, and there was a tone of pride he swore he picked up on that was in her voice when she did. The biggest proof was that she had kissed him back, and it wasn't for show—and she must have liked it because it had been a long kiss too!

He saw there was a pair of extra dice he had mixed in with his bone-object collection, something was sitting at the bottom of the basket.

"Well I guess we didn't sell _everything_."

He picked them up and looked at their scrawl marks.

"I could sell those," she held out her hand and proclaimed with confidence.

He dropped them in her hand but held them in her palm, "No. I want you to have these. You can have your own pair of dice now for the game."

She raised a brow and her mouth lifted to a smile, "Cool. Thanks!"

"You want to play later, after supper—my basement?"

"Of course," she nodded, "I love that game!" He loved how she smiled at the prospect of gaming because he felt the same way. If she loved the game, then she must have loved him just a little because he created it.

Se bit her lip all of a sudden, "I have to go now but I'll see you later."

She abruptly turned and her toe hit a rock protruding from the ground, she stumbled forward but he easily caught her around the waist, "Careful!"

"Stupid rock!" she shouted and looked at it in disdain but he could make out her to have a bit of a blush in her cheeks which he noted in his head as possible proof she felt something for him. He let her go.

"See you later then?"

"Yeah yeah," she waved him off, hurriedly and grumpily.

And now he doubted once more. If only he could into her head and figure her out. The mystery was compelling but solving it seemed even more so. If he could just _understand_ one thing fully about that tangled mess of hidden emotion inside her, he would feel better. He knew it was there, he had caught glimpses of it.

He sighed and turned, nearly bumping into someone.

"Agh I'm sorry!" he cried, only a bit startled.

"That girl, always pushing men away," the body sighed, looking after Ruffnut. He was Svenan Hofferson and he was miles ahead of Fishlegs when concerning women and that's why he even considered the man's words.

Fishlegs turned and looked at her figure, stalking away .

"What do you mean?" He asked suspiciously, remembering Sven had at one time tried coming onto her.

"She's indecisive, she's never going to know what she wants in life."

That comment disheartened Fishlegs even further but it struck him as odd. Ruff sure knew what she wanted it seemed. She was always confidant in making decisions. Sven just might have been making unwarranted, undesirable comments because she had refused to bend to his charm.

"What the Hel do you know about it?"

Sven seemed taken aback at Fishlegs's biting tone. Fishlegs wasn't normally rude to people, but there was something about Astrid's brother that rubbed him the wrong way. Sven didn't know anything about Ruffnut! Fishlegs sure knew much more, not everything obviously but he knew her stats. She was a 10 in speech craft , a class 10 warrior, a _10 of a woman _ and his love for her was a perfect, resolute 10.

"Easy there, Berserker," there was actually a hint of fear in Sven's voice. He wisely chose to leave then, "and _good luck_."

_What is that supposed to mean_?

Fishlegs didn't appreciate the insinuation in Sven's tone either way.

That's it. It was time for him to ask her. He was tired of trying to find out through hints and stupid subtle indications in words and actions. He needed to know before he lost all sanity in trying to understand her. She was not ordered, she was not logical, she was unpredictable, and was like nothing he was used to or had ever known. That's why he loved her, and that's why she intrigued him, and he just—he just wanted to _kiss_ her again because that was the best damn kiss ever, even though it was his only one he ever had. So he took in a breath, determined to find out. He wouldn't lose his nerve this time. She would come over to play the game and he wouldn't analyze her every move. He would ask her. He would understand her. _Straight and forward_, it wasn't much—but it was his plan.

He carried his kitchen table inside to put it back to it's place. Although, it would be tricky because the one thing that always caused plans to go astray was Ruffnut herself.


	5. Reality Games

"Wow, have enough candles?"

Ruff descended the stairs that led to a familiar basement and saw about two dozen candles lighting the vicinity. It looked cool, she was only used to one or maybe even two lighting a room.

"They're all Mom's."

Of course. Ruff often forgot Fishlegs's mother was the village chandler.

Fishlegs had the map already set up on the table in the basement. They sat down across from each other. This was routine. She really had taken a liking to the game she had used to think was the dorkiest damn thing in the village besides maybe Fishlegs himself. She hadn't realized it was a great way to expand her imagination and leave the real world for awhile. From the Forest of Solitude to the Caverns of Trickery, she could just relax and fight off enemies and get riches without ever having to leave the comfort of Berk. The game was an escape.

Ruff shook the dice in her palm and let them roll across the table top. They were her dice, her very own and they were awesome. She got a five total.

_The ice dwarf scales the mountainous cliff face and is confronted with a sudden snap, their rope has let out! Using her quick thinking and plus 8 agility, she uses her pickaxe to stop her fall by wedging into the rock. However a cliff serpent has heard the unfortunate dwarf's commotion and it snaps out of a dwelling hole, making a bite for the dwarf._

She re-rolled to see if she could defeat it; she rolled a seven.

_The Ice dwarf swings her pickaxe into the eye of the serpent, causing it to go blind, and it retreats with wailing howls of defeat. The Ice dwarf makes her way up the cliff face and reaches solid ground successfully, now she must continue forth to the Mountain' summit to obtain the relic of Asgard._

Fishlegs laughed suddenly. It caused her concentration to break and she looked up with a frown. He didn't usually laugh like that,"What?"

"If we were married, this is all we would do all day."

His words struck her. Where did that come from? _Married_. The word was so…_grown up_ sounding. Though she was technically an adult, she felt far from being grown up. She was sitting in a basement, playing games for Odin's sake, not even the ale-kind!

"Is that a proposal?" she raised her brow which caught him off-guard. Oh, she loved this game. They would try to out-off-guard each other. Fishlegs didn't even know he was a participating player.

"Uh, do you want it to be?"

_Nice move_, she noted on his ability to have turned the question back on her. But she hated it because she couldn't think of anything else to deter it and it was lame to ask the same thing back at him. So she answered with the first thought in her head.

"No."

And she saw his face sink into an unhappy confusion and wasn't sure why because he had _won_ the game—although he didn't know it.

She was _comfortable_ where she was. Why couldn't they just be like this forever? Playing this game, selling bone things, diving off cliffs at night…kissing. The latter activity had invaded her list rather abruptly. It was only that once, and he had started it which nearly shocked her clothes off if she would have had any on at the time. She didn't know _why_ he had done it, and she certainly didn't ask. She just rolled with it because it had felt good.

She glanced at him, and he was still staring at her. He had been doing that a lot lately. Most recently she noticed him doing it earlier in the day as she helped him sell his carved objects. This time his stare held the a disheartened expression, like he had been told someone ripped the pages out of all his books. She knew it, she had told him once when they were younger that Tuff had done just that—she was lying though to get that reaction. Now he wore that near identical face and she didn't take as much pleasure in it as she once would have.

Why was Fishlegs even asking such a stupid thing? If they were married, she would be expected to do certain things—not just play games all day. Things she'd be no good at: cooking, cleaning, and birthing children. She didn't consider herself suited for that kind of life, and the other reason—the one buried deep inside her was that in all truth she was _scared_. It was such a deeply embedded and unknown worry she didn't even recognize it as _fear_ but presumed it to be loathing.

"Well everyone is getting married," Fish pointed out after taking a nervous gulp.

Ruff knew; she'd gone to the weddings, she drank the celebratory mead and Fishlegs had been her escort and the one to carry her home when she was intoxicated and still trying to sing the lyrics to wedding songs. She liked weddings, but she didn't want to _be _ in one.

"That's not true, Tuff isn't married."

Her brother was so stupidly inadequate with woman, all he could manage in females was a tomboy, five years his junior who had followed him around for the past season or two. So she had deflected the point, which was a dumb one anyhow because people shouldn't be married just because everyone else was doing it. It made him shut up about it though.

"So can we keep playing?" she prompted. She didn't like this topic of conversation.

"No," he repeated her word in the same tone she had used, "No, we can't keep playing. I don't want to play anymore. Not this game, nor yours."

So he _did_ know about her out-off-guarding-each-other game?

Still she acted none the wiser in the look she gave him.

"Ruff, what do you think of me? Really think of me?"

Now what was he getting at?

"You're a good guy, you're fun," she said. It was true.

"Is that all?"

"What else do you want to be?"

He opened his mouth but seemed to decide not to say what he was planning.

She raised her brows, urging him to just say whatever he had to say. His awkward squeamishness was starting to irritate her.

"I—I love you, Ruff."

She stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if it was a moment in reality. Could this be for real? All this time Fishlegs had felt for her—really felt her in that extra sort of way—enough to want to marry her even? Why else would he have brought it up? They hadn't even been courting for real. She wasn't supposed to get married, that was the whole reason he was pretending to court her, wasn't it? But now it all made sense—his stares, that random kiss for no reason—she looked at her dice—_the present._ That's when she knew it was a real moment and they were sitting there together as she took in his earnest expression and expectant gaze and all the air left the room and she suddenly felt a crushing weight hit her.

"I—I have to go," she said, reaching for her dice on the table. She couldn't breath suddenly. He caught her wrist.

"Please say something. _Anything. _You have a wall around you—and I know something is inside and clawing to get out. I see it. I've seen it. Why can't you tell me? Why out of everyone did you choose me to court you?"

"You asked me out as as a favor, and I thought you were helping me trick those men interested in me. It was supposed to be fake. I expected you to want out at some point."

"I don't it to be fake, and I don't want _out," _he insisted with frustration, "I want it to be _real_, and I want _in_."

His words were completely structured and logical, just like him. Still, something about them caused an involuntary shiver to run up her spine that also caused heat to rise in her. There was a slight romance about it all, with his gentle, nervous yet hopeful expression and all that candlelight surrounding them.

Her mind sort of dizzied with everything that had happened in the last few seconds, and his notes about what was inside her. She thought she had been doing a good job of keeping those emotions from the outside world. But he was an observer by nature, of course he would see.

"No, Fish. Just—_NO_—" She held the sides of her head like she was hurting. Her head did hurt. She couldn't breathe. Why did he have to ruin everything? He was safe, he was comfortable but now she felt being anywhere else would be more comfortable. One minute they were fine and the next he was telling her he loved her and he was onto her hidden emotions she never wanted anyone to know about. It was way too much to deal with at once, "I can't."

With that she grabbed her dice and ran up the stairs. She didn't run from things normally but she didn't know what to do. She didn't know how she felt or how to feel about it. She needed air.

She emerged out into the chilly evening, taking in gulps of breath to calm herself. There was a nice, milky, serene moonlight that made the night clear to see in.

She felt ridiculous. Why would she run away from someone who had admitted they loved her? She wasn't good with love. She didn't know what love was, at least she didn't _think_ she did. She had liked boys, but she never imagined being in a real relationship. She always had supposed she would marry off to some guy she didn't even like so had always thought of the subject with disdain.

She trudged through the quiet, darkened village. There were a few calls of men—probably those heading home from the tavern or calling for their dragons.

She slumped down and sat against a leg of dragon high rise, listening to the snores and grumbles of the Gronkles and Nadders inside.

The right head of the Zippleback she shared with Tuff must have caught her scent because a dark rounded shadow suddenly appeared at her side and bumped her elbow.

"Hey," she petted the scales on the chin.

Right head crooned and then appeared the left head. Left wanted the same treatment and so she rolled her eyes and scratched its chin too. She sighed and let her head fall into the side of Right's neck.

"Do dragons have to worry about these things?" she asked but only received the snores and grumbles of the sleeping dragons in response. The Zippleback was the only one awake and apparently had started arguing with one another by their sharp chatters.

"Stop fighting," she chided and flicked Right on the end of their snout. Right whimpered much to the amusement of the snicker-hissing of Left.

"You too!" she repeated the reprimand. A Zippleback had to have equal treatment to each head, she had figured out through training it. Tuff didn't get the concept as well, he clearly favored Left and in turn Left favored him. She liked both, but since Left liked Tuff and Tuff was arguing constantly with Ruff—Left got it into their head to not take direction from her as much. Right adored her. She grabbed Right's front horn and was lifted upwards off the ground until her toes barely touched it. She let go and dropped, giving out a laugh.

The dragon had wondrously kept her problematic thoughts at bay but they crowded in again once it had retreated back into the high rise sleepily.

Should she talk to someone? She couldn't think of _who_, because she didn't tell her worries to anyone. She was brave, she didn't want anyone else to know her weaknesses.

Why did Fishlegs have to like her? No, why did he have to _love_ her? She didn't think she had done anything to warrant it and obviously didn't how she should she handle it.

Maybe she should try to think like Fishlegs and try to sort out everything in order and logically.

Why was she freaking out? She rolled the dice he had carved around between her fingers, examining it.

The Unknown made her apprehensive, that was it. She had liked the way they were, now it was all changed—which would lead to the unknown.

If she ended up getting married, she would eventually have children.

And children would kill her.

Or maybe not.

She blinked, Fishlegs's children might kill her—the guy was was two ale drums of height and weight.

But still it wasn't a fact that she would _die_, and she gave a nervous giggle at the thought about doing those kinds of activities with Fishlegs—a whole new kind of game.

But she realized she hadn't even thought about the most important thing—how did she think of Fishlegs? That was all he had asked in the first place. He didn't ask her to marry him, it must have been one of the pointless theorizations he was always spouting out. She pictured his face and felt herself smile.

She must have not been alert as she usually was. A hand reached out and and flipped her around to the other side of the high rise, out of the village square's view, in the darker shadows of the night. The act was in a bit of roughness but nothing she couldn't handle, she brought her wrist up to break their nose, how dare whoever try and touch her and startle her. But she saw him and her wrist was caught and her fury only heightened, she took a breath. _No wonder. _

Svenan stood before her, tightly grasping her and any other girl or woman in the village would have undoubtedly swooned at the handsome Viking. Had he been following her? He must have been desperate.

"When did you get back?" she snarled.

"I'm wounded. You didn't see me at Jorgenson's wedding?"

"No."

She actually might have, and she had seen him before supper, no doubt approaching to talk to her but wouldn't admit it—she was enjoying the way his face had become downcast.

"I saw you."

"Good for you," she bit, "Let go. What do you want?"

"To talk to you."

He let go of her and she frowned, "So, talk."

"You haven't _told_ anyone about what I—what you saw—the raid?" he struggled for the words and she was amused for once he was not being as smooth as everyone thought he was.

"If I would have told them, don't you think you'd be dragon food by now? 'Lout's wedding was near a month ago, and yet you're still standing here a free man." She nearly growled, still disgusted with him.

He nodded considering her point but they heard a shout from a distance and Sven jerked his head toward it with a nervousness she hadn't seen on him before. Did he suspect that someone knew? What other Viking would have known?

She kicked a small rock, she hated rocks, "Besides, no one would believe me. You fought with us too, and you're a much better liar than I am." Her words seemed to calm him.

_Always promising the stars to girls and giving them a handful of dust. _

Though she didn't tell anyone the truth because in all actuality she couldn't bring herself to do it. She refused to be a factoring cause to others'' deaths.

"That's why we belong together," he boldly teased leaning closer.

She pushed on his chest and ducked under one of his arms, leaving him there, "Yeah right."

"I don't see how you could want that hulk of a berserker over me."

Ruff froze, "What?"

Did she appear to _want _Fishlegs?

"Not only did I see you at the wedding, I saw _who_ you were with. Even today. It's no secret your having that geek-boy court you. That really surprises me Ruff—I've known you for years, have observed you and there's no one iller fit to suit you than _him_."

She whirled around, "Don't you dare make fun of Fishlegs!"

Ruff had never stood up for anyone before but herself and it was a weird feeling getting riled at insults that weren't even directed toward her. She had always made fun of others without a care, sometimes even Fishlegs when they were younger and he was some bulky, contemplative, know-it-all.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" Sven arched one of his brows.

"You don't know anything! Fish listens, he doesn't grab me whenever he feels like it, he's kind, he's respectful, and he even amuses me—you do _none _of that so why in the _Hel_ should _we_ be together?"

"Because you'd make me a better man, Ruffnut Thorston," Sven answered and leaned forward and kissed her. It caught her off-guard, and he wasn't even invited to play that secret game! Still her thoughts were occupied thinking of who she did like, who she did want to be with when it came down to it. Why did this man always make her realize things she wouldn't have figured out on her own?

It was the truth—she was rather fond of 'Legs, he calmed her ire better than anyone. Her family fueled it by the buckets, Astrid often caused Ruff to be competitive, 'Lout annoyed her, Hiccup was frustrating but Fishlegs—he stabilized her, and in turn she raised his chances of acting impulsively—if anything _they _were the ones who belonged with each other.

Not this guy kissing her, that was for sure.

His lips were potent with charm and finesse, and lust—she could taste that lust on his mouth and pushed him away with a hard shove, a first for the man as evident by his complete astonishment. She felt sorry for him. He was pathetic.

"I _can't_ make you better. The only person who can make you better is _yourself_."

He stared at her, rolling her words in his head then lifted his lips in a small smile, "I take it back, you are and have always been too good for me."

She knew it, and gave a huff at him in finally figuring it out. He was growing up, and it was about damn time; she was tired of hearing numerous women complaining or fawning about his flirtations and seductions. She was tired of dealing with him.

"Goodbye Svenan," she said. It rang through the evening resolutely.

She was now off to find Fish and try to admit she had been wrong—something she wasn't used to doing. She took a breath to ready herself for an apology—which was also something she didn't do often. She had made a mistake and knowing the type of guy Fishlegs was, he would forgive her. Everything was going to be okay, she was sure. She just needed to tell him how she really felt—it was that simple and she had no clue why it seemed so impossible before.

Maybe it was time for her to grow up a little too.

"Goodbye Ruff, forget me not," Sven nodded in return as they parted ways. She snorted at his play on words, of their little symbol of whatever they had since they were young—the blue and yellow flower that grew on the hills near the springs.

As soon as they were a few feet apart, the shouts were heard louder—closer, clearer.

"He's here!"

"Get him!"

Ruff turned to see about four men with torches, one of them being the high commander. They piled into and grabbed Svenan, punched him, threw him down and even kicked him. He tried fighting at first but he was outnumbered.

"What? What is this?" Sven gasped from the ground in a momentary lapse of beatings. Blood was already spilling from his lip.

"You are a proven traitor," Snotlout seethed and gave him another good kick to the ribs. Svenan shouted and made a strained protest, "Where did you get such lies to your heads?"

Snotlout backhanded him across the face, "It's been revealed by a valid source of trust."

He was hauled upwards roughly before they dragged him off to a horrible place, for traitors were treated worse than enemies among the Vikings—and Svenan gave a last glance at Ruff with wide, hurt, fearful and betrayed eyes and she shook her head still in shock—indicating she hadn't spilled a word. But how did they know, how could they believe it when Sven was right there fighting with them last Spring? She furiously tried to think of how it was possible they knew and then she noticed that 'Lout was particularly enraged more than the others and then came to the realization—_Brynna_.

She was the only other who would have known of Sven's betrayal. It wasn't a Viking but the _Celt_ who had turned Sven in, after all was done.

All this time Ruff hoped secretly Sven would pay in some way for his treachery but not like this. Maybe if she had been who she was before the spring she would have wanted it. But she wasn't that Ruffnut anymore. As they dragged him away she could only feel a rising sadness. He had wanted peace—and now he would pay the ultimate price.

It really was g_oodbye_.

He should have known not to return to Berk, even if he thought his secrets were safe. His vanity and his confidence had been his downfall to trust that Brynna wouldn't find out somehow he had double-crossed the Celts.

Her anxiousness overwhelmed her as she made her way back to Fish's house but she didn't need to even go that far because she found him outside—probably looking for her.

"Ruff—" he began to speak as he saw her but she piled into his broad body, burying her face into his chest. "Ruff?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she said choking on her emotions, and was yet amazed at how it so easily rolled off her tongue. She was filled with a mix of worry from the events of the evening, but managed to spit out, "I like you Fish. I just—I just don't know if I'm ready for something big, you know?"

She felt his arms cross around her back and it caused her to squeeze closer into him and it felt warm, good—it really did. It felt _comfortable_.

"That was all I needed to know," he answered quietly, relieved.

She glanced up at his face, that moonlight was hitting him in such a way it caused him to sort of glow—and in a swift movement she kissed him. She was the only girl in the village that could do it without standing on her tip-toes. It caught him off-guard for she felt his body go rigid.

_One point for me_.

But only for a moment because he relaxed and happily accepted it.

She knew she had changed, and Fishlegs was the only one who saw that struggle in her and that was reason enough to give him a chance—to tell him everything that had happened to her. She trusted him, because really all those things she said to Svenan about him were true. She had hope and for the first time since the raid, she had a clear feeling—she really liked the idea of being with the berserker, and not like how she had been before—now it would be for _real._

_

* * *

_

A/N: Ever since the Spring Raid Ruff has sort of been going through an identity crisis and has been dealing with herself through a sort of metamorphosis so that is why she had been kind of clueless to Fishelgs's feelings—she's had so much more on her mind and so when he told her the truth it just really blew her away—but now as you can see, she has thought about it, and likes it.

UP next: the series FINALE. Epic.

*Art news: RuffxFish Summer's Fervor kiss drawing in DA art gallery ;)


	6. The Trials of Leadership

Something was wrong. He didn't often get that feeling, well—not since he was a kid, but it struck him—that sudden unsure, edgy, _off_ feeling right in his gut. Hiccup had stepped outside into the cool autumn air for the start of his day and Snotlout was already awake, waiting to have his ear on a matter.

"We have a problem."

His eyes widened, fearful it was _he_ there was a problem with.

_Why though? I do all that is asked of me, I haven't destroyed the village. Odin—__**what**__ could I have screwed up so bad he looks like he wants to lynch something?_

"It has to do with Svenan Hofferson," the name was spoken in pure growl.

His terror eased a bit at knowing Snotlout's subtle hate was not any fault of his own, but it only shot back to red alert when he heard behind him, "What about Sven?"

She was still wearing her nightdress, still sleepy. Astrid would usually have been awake before him but after last night, and taking one glance at her form curled comfortably into the quilts—he just didn't have the heart to wake her. He'd even made breakfast for himself that morning.

"Astrid! Hi. Hi Astrid. Oh, beautiful day, isn't it Astrid?—Hi, Good morning," he immediately greeted her with a smile. Snotlout's growlings must have roused her.

She knew his mannerisms too well, "What's the matter?"

He honestly didn't know—yet. But the indications of 'Lout's tone were not good.

Snotlout eyed Astrid's presence but shook his head. He seemed as though he was going to say his issue aloud but now that she had emerged, it was different. Hiccup was so bewildered, but still that ominous feeling would not leave him.

Despite Astrid standing there, growing either annoyed or impatient—probably both, and wondering just as much as Hiccup what all this was about—Snotlout stepped forward to speak into Hiccup's ear so whatever information was disclosed, the Missus Haddock couldn't hear. Hiccup felt dishonest when he kept information from Astrid, which is why he never did it but what Snotlout mumbled quietly made him sure he didn't want Astrid knowing. Snotlout went on like that for a minute or so, explaining the circumstances and Hiccup could tell his cousin was trying extra hard not to let his information turn to shouts of pure outrage.

When it was finished, Hiccup's chest had fallen and he really couldn't say anything for the shock of the information caused the bad feeling in him to be replaced with an even worse one—a mix of anger, disappointment, and seared with horrid worry—especially as he glanced at his wife and her given frown of suspicion and displeasure.

Snotlout gestured for him to follow him with a jerk of his head but Astrid grabbed his shoulder—"_What_ is going on, Hiccup?"

He sighed, "I can't tell you."

Her eyes widened incredulously but quickly narrowed, he knew her calm demeanor would soon be turned.

"Can't or _won't_?"

She was adamant and maybe a slight bit hurt but he didn't _want_ to tell her. He didn't want her stressed out, especially after last night when she told him that she possibly could be pregnant. He wanted her to stay home, relax, do whatever _possibly pregnant_ women did and not be worried but he knew that was wishful thinking.

"_Won't?_" he closed his eyes, waiting for a sharp punch to his arm. It never came, perhaps she was now too upset to do what she normally did when she disapproved of his answers.

"If it has to do with Sven I have the right to know and I'm going to follow you two wherever you are going," She flipped her hair indignantly and retreated inside to throw on a tunic over her nightdress.

"No—no you won't, Astrid," Hiccup followed her inside and said firmly but wavered at her harsh glare.

He saw her fists crunch in ire and knew he wouldn't escape being the victim of her mood. He'd rather have her be angry with him though, than to know the truth.

"Hiccup. You will tell _me,_ right now, what is going on or so Odin help you—"

"You're brother is a Friggin' traitor, Astrid."

It came from Snotlout who suddenly held nothing back. He had made the attempt to shield her out of courtesy but probably saw it was futile once she had her claws in the Chieftain's matters.

"What?" she whispered. Her tone was startled yet unbelieving, scrutinizing.

"Come on Chief, you gotta decide what to do," Snotlout urged, still upset and hassled. Astrid's eyes fell onto her husband and he hated that he was the one who had to make the call on Sven's fate.

He gave her a regretful look but turned to follow 'Lout.

"No, I'm coming," she insisted, "Where is he?"

"Astrid—"

Her glare bore into him and he sighed, not wanting to say, but again Snotlout beat him to the answer—

"He's in _Myrkrstaðr."_

Hiccup winced and Astrid could only stare with rounder eyes than usual. It was a place within the village that wasn't spoken of unless necessary—a place for mad people, torture, deviants—and often, the mere hint of _Myrkrstaðr _caused children to behave their parents for months. It was the dark place of winding cavern beneath the old kill ring that Hiccup never hoped to have to enter for any reason in his life. But it was one of those days.

"_Myrkrstaðr_,"Astrid repeated, and he heard a distinct hint of a rare fear suppressed in her speaking the word.

Hiccup could only let Astrid come along with them despite her shabby appearance of tangled morning hair and a mash of garments that were in no sense appropriate for the chilly morning—and she didn't seem to care. Her Nadder would have thrown an intolerable fit if she were to catch Astrid so publicly slovenly. He left Toothless at their lodge, sleeping, because no dragon bigger than a Terrible Terror would fit in the under-paths anyway.

They entered the caverns, a dark place if not for the pitch torches being lit. He could tell this area had not been used for many years as evident by the cobwebs and stale air.

They stopped in front of a primitive area used as a holding cage for the worst of criminals and madmen before their executions.

Sven was on the ground, limp, bruised, bleeding and every other sort of pain a traitor would be bestowed. Astrid ran to the crude cast-iron rods that were wedged between the ground and the ceiling of the inner rock.

"Svenan!" Astrid called in an edge of panic, she grabbed the bars and tried shaking them but they were immovable, "Let me in to him, _now_."

Snotlout looked to Hiccup and Hiccup could only nod. He couldn't deny her to see her own brother.

'Lout unlocked the bars holding the entrance to the torturous cage. The locks were useless, anyone could see the man was too broken to even attempt escape. Astrid brushed past them and fell to her knees at her brother's side.

"Svenan!" She pulled her brother up in her arms, into to her lap, brushing the hair from his eyes. There was dried blood on his face from cuts, on his skin from the collection of raw whippings that sliced across his back, and what skin that didn't have blood was a mix of vivid black or blue.

He sucked in a sharp breath of pain at the movement and let it out in a weak cough, and if Hiccup knew anything about Svenan—_weak_ was never a word used to describe him.

His eyes barely opened they were so swollen, "Hey—sis."

"Do mother and father know you are here?"

"They don't, but will find out soon," Snotlout answered for Sven—at least, if unknowingly showing mercy—because it seemed too painful for Svenan to form words. "We hauled him in last night after finding him."

Sven had survived a whole night in _Myrkrstaðr_? Hiccup's arms ran with shivers at the thought.

Astrid scowled at Snotlout in a most hateful way before looking back to her brother. She took his hand and saw fresher blood seeping out of his broken, lacerated fingers.

"What have they done to you?" They heard her whisper, suddenly she whipped her head around and screamed, absolutely enraged to 'Lout, "_**WHAT **_HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BROTHER_?" _

Snotlout was not apologetic_,_ but stern,_ "_What we're_ supposed _to do with traitors_."_

"Where have you gotten such sick information from? How do you know it is even true?" She snapped, seeming quite tired all of a sudden despite her burning anger. Hiccup made a move toward her but she stared daggers at him, as if she would likely kill the being that separated her from her brother at that moment. He stepped back, helpless. She shouldn't have been questioning the high commander, it was Snotlout's duty to prove or disprove the charges and enough evidence had warranted Sven's guilt.

He rightfully did not have to answer her, yet still did out of respect for their friendship, "I have it on good authority—"

"_Whose_ authority?"

"My wife, she knows that Sven told the Celtic Lords of our raid plans beforehand, that is proof to why they met us with such surprising defense—it's why we lost nearly a _third _of our forces!"

Astrid bit the inside of her cheek, Hiccup could see his wife's denial setting in. She scowled furiously and mumbled, "Celtic _tart_."

Hiccup had never heard so much venom in Astrid's tone, and held his arm in front of Snotlout to calm his cousin who was suddenly extremely wrought with anger at Astrid's comment about his spirited wife.

"Take it back!"

"Or what? Will the knowledge of two senseless beatings weigh too much on your conscious today?"

"Ast," it came softly between the growing shouting between Hiccup's wife and cousin.

She snapped her focus down and smiled with a slight relief, "Sven?"

"I—I—I'm…sorry."

Her smile faded and was transformed to that of bafflement.

"I di—I did it."

It took her a moment to comprehend but she shook her head, her voice sounding suspiciously close to being lost in a case of tears that were threatening to spill. "No—no—you are only saying so because they tortured you—"

"No. _I _did it," he insisted, speaking unbroken words with as much force he could muster. She could not argue with his own admission, and realized so.

She closed her eyes tight but beneath her lashes, one or two silent tears managed to drag down her cheeks. She took in a breath and let go of him, moving herself away from him as if he were a sickness.

"Then I'm done with you, traitor."

Hiccup knew she couldn't have meant it. It was only out of loyalty to the clan she said it and thought to mean it. Her facade was now icy, indifferent and she left them all, wiping that trail of moisture off her face with disgust. Whether the disgust game for her brother's actions or for her own show of emotions for him, Hiccup could only guess.

He stepped into the cell and knelt at his brother-in-law's side, "_Why_?"

And it was shocking to him that Sven managed to actually lift his lips and through a grimace the shadow of the smile that could render anyone to his charm was still barely evident.

"Someone had to."

Hiccup shook his head, aghast and not understanding of Sven's meaning.

"If I hadn't, where do you suppose we'd be now?" Svenan suddenly winced and coughed, his voice was strained and raspy and a small bit of fresh blood suddenly spotted his lips from the effort of speaking. He lacked the strength to hold his head furthermore and it slumped to the ground. His eyes closed in an extreme wave of after-pains.

Hiccup again shook his head, disappointed at the man, and stood. He had better get to Astrid before she did something dangerous to herself or someone else. He made his way to leave but Snotlout grabbed his shoulder with concern.

"He just admitted to everything. You know it is clear what we're to do with traitors."

Hiccup knew—and he couldn't help but to pale. He took a look at Svenan's suffering and swung his head abruptly back and forth, "No. Just have it be quick and painless as possible."

Snotlout mumbled in disagreement but nodded in acquiescence

"At sundown," Hiccup decided. Spirits were told to have a better chance of escaping the clutches of Hel between the sun and the moon.

He had never seen an execution happen before because children just weren't allowed at such events. Though when Berk was met with a traitor, that unfortunate soul's death was long and painful, and public. He didn't even dare think of the specific activities because they were too gruesome—that's why one never betrayed the Vikings.

He emerged from the dank cavern corridors and picked up speed to run home but had to be careful of imperfections in the ground because he would never be as fast someone with two working legs.

"Astrid!" He called out but she either didn't hear him or didn't care to hear him when he entered the lodge. Toothless was still sleeping in front of the hearth, unconcerned about the human matters that didn't involve him but perked his ears at the obvious stressful tone in the Chief's calls.

There was no answer and perhaps she wasn't there but there was a sound from up the stairs. He climbed them and twisted the handle to the door of their room—locked.

Then, he heard it again—that sound, but it was new to his world.

The ragged sobs of Astrid.

He wanted so bad to go in there, to comfort her, to calm her but knew it was useless—the situation was grim. He turned his back toward the door, fell against it and slid down to a sitting position—utterly disheartened.

Toothless must have decided to investigate and Hiccup heard the _clack_ of the dragon's talons as he met him at the top of the landing. The dragon sniffed at the door and looked down to Hiccup in a questioning way. Hiccup could only sigh and reach up to set his hand against the Night Fury's muzzle. He closed his eyes and wished to go back.

If only he could go back to that moment—what he realized to be the best moment of his life when a night fury had accepted his touch of forbidden friendship. If he could do only that, knowing everything he knew now—about dragons, battles, Astrid, and his future—would everything still be the same in the end or would it be better? Would it be worse?

_No, how could it be worse than this_?

His wife's sobs were muffled, as if she had her face stuffed into one of the pillows on their bed and her cries only seemed to resonate in his heart. She was not coming out anytime soon so he sadly left her to her most private of laments, wanting badly to talk to someone.

He stood in front of the lodge he had grown up in, hesitating but eventually knocked on the door.

It took awhile but it opened and he gazed up at his father, hunched a little but still as vast as ever which still left his son in slight awe.

"Hiccup, m'boy!"

"Hi Dad."

"Come to pay your father a visit out of your busy day?"

He could only nod half-heartedly.

"So I hear there is trouble."

"What?"

"I may not be Chief anymore but I always know what's going on."

Stoick had been surprisingly uninvolved since Hiccup ascended to leadership. The vast man taught Hiccup his expected duties as Chief but other than manual jargon and demonstrations, Stoick left all decision-making to Hiccup. It was as though the man had put his entire faith into his son and it was such a unknown kind of trust from the man that Hiccup didn't believe himself ready to handle this 'hands off' attitude of his father. He did not even attend the meetings Hiccup conducted with the Celtic Lord when they were visiting. His father had retreated into his retirement, finally relaxing from the pressures of life but for that, Hiccup couldn't blame him.

"What do you _think_ is going on, Dad?"

"What I _know_ is going on, is that Hofferson traitor—I hear that there will be an execution by beheading at sundown. The villagers are out for his blood. "

Hiccup was surprised at the rather indifferent, 'as-a-matter-of-fact' tone of his father's words, considering what Svenan had done, considering the consequence it left on his father.

"Uh, shouldn't _you_ be after his blood too?" Hiccup nodded at his father's back. The muscle of the lower back had been permanently severed—causing his father to never be able to walk upright and without aid evermore.

Stoick gave a shrug, "My injury had nothing to do with his actions. I should have been more alert."

"You can't blame yourself! Nothing about it was your fault! At least blame me, I'm the one who disobeyed you—I was _distracting_ you!"

Hiccup had always been uncomfortable about that fact , because he knew in his heart he really was the reason for Stoick's handicap.

"It's history, Hiccup. You can't change what has happened and you can try to blame everyone or yourself until the Ragnarok but in the end it is for naught. I could have chosen to let you participate in the raid and maybe it would have turned out differently but son, you live life until the end all based on your choices."

Since when had his dad become this figure of all-encompassing wisdom and patience? He sure wasn't like that when Hiccup was growing up. Stoick was stern and structured. He glanced at his father's long cane that he used as aid for walking. Maybe since having that injury, Stoick had time to ponder on life and develop a different view of it.

"I just want to know what to do," Hiccup drug his hands over his face and spoke in a defeated tone.

"About what?"

"Astrid has locked me out of our room, she's _crying_. Her brother is—going to be put to death soon. I thought as former Chief and current father you could give me advice or something on how to cope with it all."

Stock's look completely softened at his eighteen-year-old son still seeking advice and he tapped Hiccup on the shoulder with the end of his cane, "Think hard about what you want to happen, and if you want it to happen—let it. If you don't—do something about it. You make tomorrow's history; decisions, Hiccup, decisions."

It was an annoyingly simple and vague response but Stoick nodded, satisfied with his answer nonetheless.

"Thank you—" Hiccup's tone was at it's driest, anything but satisfied. He turned to leave but had one more question for a man he thought to have had experienced it all, "Oh, also—how do you know if your wife is pregnant?"

"The severest of mood changes, " it was another quick, straight answer from Stoick before he actually thought about what he had been asked. He considered it and then burst into a wide grin, "BEARD OF THOR! AM I GOING T'BE A GRANDADDY?"

The volume of his father's jovial shout startled Hiccup so completely he tumbled backwards a bit

"Uh…it's '_not for certain_.'"

"Oh," Stoick's joy was turned down a notch and then became bossy "Well then get busy boy, I'm not going to live forever."

The inference still caused Hiccup to blush just a bit. But not nearly as much when his dad tried explaining to him about a 'husband's right' before his wedding—Odin, that would go down as the most awkward moment in Hiccup's personal history.

Those thoughts of future or past family couldn't comfort him for too long because the thoughts of his present family were more pressing.

He thanked his father for his time and returned to his lodge to see if Astrid was willing to be consoled.

"Astrid?" He tried again, knocking lightly on the door, "It's me."

He heard a rustling and was relieved to hear the latch unlock. The door opened a crack and he could see the raw, red eyes containing those crystalline blue irises that always had given him shivers they were so beautiful. His skin prickled even then.

"What is going to happen to him?"

She made her tone drenched with indifference.

Snotlout had chosen the quick and most painless method after all but that didn't stop Hiccup's chest from sinking. Already the news of the traitorous deed and the execution was spread through village, so unfortunately the _public_ part of the execution couldn't be avoided. They all knew, but not Astrid who had been locked in their room for hours past, not wanting anything to do with the real world. She _did_ care because traitor or not—Sven was her blood and she was a horrible liar when she was emotional. She wouldn't have asked if she hadn't cared.

But the answer was, Sven was going to die.

Hiccup knew and Astrid would be naive to think otherwise.

"Beheading," he murmured and looked anywhere but at her.

She left her spot and he dared enter the room. She took her axe—the one axe that men _feared_ off the wall and held it out to him. He momentarily feared she would have struck it into him but realized he was alive after a moment and had been holding his breath. It let out in a long, relieved, sigh.

"They must use this then, no other axe will do."

"Ast—" he protested softly, taking a step back.

"Take it!" she let go of the long wooden hilt and it fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

They both stared it until she began to laugh. It started as a small, sharp giggle but turned into a guffaw and then a sob and for the first time in his life he saw the bravest girl he'd ever known, break into tears. They gathered in small drops below her eyes until their weight caused them to slide down her face and drip off her cheeks and chin, all through her spasms of chuckling—which were melancholy and surreal to Hiccup all at the same time.

"He gave that to me you know, when I turned ten," she had found words finally, albeit they were shaky, "and I always threatened that my axe would be the end of him someday. I'd chase him around angrily because he was always showing off, doing better at everything than I, and taunted me like an older brother would. I told him—and now—and now—" she couldn't finish, just choked out a strange noise half-way between a laugh and a sob before wiping at her eyes intolerably, "Well, it's weird the way the world works."

He bent over and lifted the weapon, heartbroken for what she must have been going through, "I'm sorry."

She sniffled but gave a sharp look to him, "Don't be. He knew what he was doing and he knew the consequences."

"You speak as though he is already dead."

"Isn't he? You as well as I saw his condition."

Hiccup gripped the axe hard, and looked out the window to see the shadows had grown longer. Autumn-the days grew shorter the dusk grew longer—it was about that time. "I have to go."

But he really didn't want to.

Once outside, he whistled to Toothless and climbed onto his back, pulling the foot-adjustment forward to fan out the tailfin and they were off toward the old kill ring.

_If you want something to happen—let it._

He knew they wanted Sven's head.

He knew Sven should be punished

_If you don't want something to happen—do something about it_

But _he _didn't want Sven to die. It wasn't weakness, but his overwhelming sense of mercy for living things. Mercy was not a bad thing—he had once let a dragon live, a dragon he knew he was supposed to kill and now he couldn't have ever imagined life without the fire beasts. One act of mercy had changed an entire way of life for everyone—for the better. He'd even let the wretch live who could have killed his own father.

Because what was the point of revenge? It wouldn't change anything—just one more act of violence begotten by violence with only the fleeting consolation of vengeance. Hiccup had yet to be angry enough to kill someone—and doubted he ever would.

_You can't change what has happened, _his father's voice reminded him_, You live life until the end all based on your choices._

His thoughts turned to what Sven had said.

_If I hadn't, where would we be now_?

According to Stoick, it didn't matter—it couldn't be changed but the more he thought of it, there was a silver lining in Sven's betrayal—a new alliance, a wife for Snotlout even—though Snotlout was too bullheaded and dim to understand and think of such a detailed hypothetical on his own. Anger was what drove his cousin to action. Yet, what Sven had done was not forgivable. Hiccup could not forgive such a deed, but he knew he didn't want that man to be executed. His death would not make Hiccup feel better nor solve any problems.

He met Snotlout on the slab above the old kill ring. It was the place Stoick had given village-wide speeches in years past, the best area to fit a large amount of people.

But it wasn't just Snotlout.

There were other Vikings of the village, not just the elite or the officials but the warriors, the craftsmen, the laborers. It was as if every faction of the village had stopped their agendas of the day and were waiting for the moment the sun had set and Svenan Hofferson, the traitor would die. They were all affected by it in some way, outraged at the gall of a Viking to betray his own people, angry that a relative or friend was slain in the Southern Islands—but maybe that bit wasn't Svenan's fault. Maybe it was their own for raiding in the first place.

_You can blame everyone or yourself until the Ragnarok but in the end it is for naught._

The sun was sinking.

_Decisions, Hiccup, decisions._

Further yet behind the ocean.

_One act of mercy can change an entire way of life for everyone—for the better._

He hopped off of the night fury's back and faced his cousin.

"We can't do this," he blurted. They were waiting for the executioner to bring up Sven from _Myrkrstaðr._

Snotlout eyed the Chief doubtfully, "We have to do it."

"No. Go tell the executioner it's off. It's just _not _happening."

Snotlout's brow furrowed deeply and he sneered, "Are you insane? Name one reason why that traitor's head shouldn't roll."

"Brynna."

It was the quickest way Hiccup could make 'Lout understand a fraction of his decision. To get him on Hiccup's side, because he knew 'Lout didn't love anything more than his wife.

"What?" his cousin's frown lifted to confusion.

"If Svenan hadn't warned the Celts we were coming, what do you suppose would have happened to Brynna? She wouldn't be here now, she would have been killed or worse because you and all the rest of the Vikings would have taken out all the Celts in that fortress if you hadn't been met with an overwhelming opposition."

Snotlout's hands curled into fists understanding the realization, it came slow but it had worked on him.

"Still, how can you expect _them_ to accept it? They want retribution. Traitors are supposed to be put to death!"

"I don't expect them to accept it. This might be the one decision that ruins me but I know it's the right one and I'm making it," Hiccup felt resolute, "Now go."

Snotlout gave a terse nod and took off to the caverns below them to stop Sven from being brought up and displayed in his sorry state to only urge the bloodthirsty responses of the crowd.

Hiccup swallowed a nervous lump that had grown in his throat and stepped up to the front of the slab to see the faces of those angry villagers who were becoming impatient for the scheduled death. Hiccup was clutching Astrid's axe and someone gave a cheer, possibly thinking that Hiccup himself was to make the example once Sven arrived. Hiccup intended to make an example all right.

The shouts urged more cheering, and pretty soon they were all reacting positively toward him standing there and he closed his eyes, remembering that sound because he doubted it would happen again after what he was about to announce.

"About Svenan Hofferson—"

The crowd quieted, eager to hear.

Hiccup swallowed again, looking for the right words, "We were betrayed. One of our own told the enemy of our intentions and the consequence was our forces meeting up with a tough resistance. We lost many of our own and our allies."

There were cries of agreement, shouts of impatience.

"Another consequence of this was that we have a new found alliance with a culture that we had only ever tried raiding from. A culture we can trade with, and gain their assets without having to use force. We have promised to commit to one another, there is peace after years of violence all because for once we were hit with a loss we had never previously known."

Now the crowd was quiet, confused, wondering.

"In a world of hate and violence, we cannt grow. Making allies, _not _enemies is the only future to success—a success I want this clan to be a part of. Therefore, Svenan Hofferson _will not_ _die_ this day!_"_

There was a moment of silence.

And then the noises of outrage erupted.

There were angry growls, shouts, screams, and wails of disappointment and it was nearly deafening.

He let them voice their grievances, though it conglomerated into an incomprehensible roar. Toothless's ears flattened back at the violent atmosphere and fidgeted uneasily.

"Would you please just listen to me!" Hiccup sternly shouted, striking the hilt of Astrid's axe to the rock beneath his feet and waited for the noise to settle, and it did somewhat quickly. "I don't condone what he has done That is why instead of execution, Sven Hofferson is henceforth _banished_ from the isle of Berk and cast out of this clan."

There were considering murmurs, but still a lot of shouting. Though however angry, no one was going to march into _Myrkrstaðr _to finish Sven off themselves_._

"Now all of you return to your business! Pass the word of this day to your families."

Hiccup let out a breath. He had decided to appease them, after all one could not just betray their clan and walk away without penalty. Svenan would have to be punished in some way, and that way was in exile. Though it would feel like normal because he always was gone from Berk after graduating training—his travels would just now be extended indefinitely. He could even stay with Celts, as he seemed to have liked them well enough.

He understood if the people couldn't accept his decision about Svenan but hoped they could understand what his goals as Chief were. He wanted to enter a new era of tolerance, but that didn't mean the Vikings were to be viewed as weak. Training would still go on as it had for many generations but it would be used to defend, not attack.

Hiccup turned and embraced the whole of Toothless's face, feeling a sort of catharsis at his decision, after everything that had happened. Toothless _g'rurred_ in comfort. "Come on bud, let's go home."

Then he grabbed the saddle and mounted it, ready to go and see his wife and tell her about the turn around. He had a feeling she would feel better at the news, for an exiled brother was better than a dead brother; A glad wife was better than an angry wife.

However, before Toothless could lift off the ground, Snotlout had reappeared and it caused him to halt.

There was a crestfallen sort of look about him, and Hiccup already knew before Snotlout explained.

"Sven is gone," there was regret in his cousin's tone and grew even heavier when explaining, "He couldn't sustain his injuries."

Hiccup's stomach sank, and he closed his eyes with remorse. Hiccup had been too hopeful to acknowledge that the state he saw Sven in that morning wouldn't cause him to perish before sunset.

"Very well, have him prepared for burial. Those few of us will mourn him tomorrow privately. I need to let Astrid know."

"Please—tell her—tell her that I'm sorry," Snotlout besought Hiccup. Hiccup nodded and prompted Toothless to fly across the village, back to the lodge on the hill.

When he returned home he immediately climbed up the stairs to the bedroom. One candlestick in the vicinity was lit and Astrid was laying on their bed on her side but her back was toward him and he didn't know if she were asleep.

So he stepped lightly to put her axe back in its place, and to his alarm she rolled over sharply and stared at him, squinting through the half-darkened room.

"I see no blood on my axe."

"It wasn't used."

Her eyes widened under a frown, "You let _someone's else's_ axe—"

"No, I called the execution off," he said in a grim tone and undressed from his outside layers.

"So he lives?"

Hiccup could only give her a sad, telling sort of gaze—hating that the small hope in her voice had to be distinguished. "Snotlout wishes you to know that he apologizes."

"Oh," it was understanding, quiet, unforgiving, and just as devastated if he were to tell her the execution had gone through anyway. She turned her back on him again. He cautiously laid next to her and tugged on the sleeve of her nightdress to get her attention.

"Astrid, do you—do you still love me?"

He asked it quietly, setting his chin on her shoulder. She had said so the night before but considering what all had happened that day as well as her glares, her tones, her body language—her feelings could have changed about him and he was afraid that they had. She didn't look at him but found his hand and held it, lifting the back of it against the side of her face for comfort. He could feel a slight wetness on her skin from where he touched. After a moment he heard her whisper, "More than anything."

It was resolute, and caused his heart to fill with an overwhelming relief.

"As I said, he was a grown man and he knew what he was doing and he knew the consequences. I have lost a brother and will miss him despite his deciet, but you could have done nothing for him, it was too late." He felt entire body below his sigh, "Now there is some fish downstairs for supper I had made. Go eat, I don't think you have eaten all day."

She let his hand free.

Her stomach gave a sound of grumbling.

"Did _you_ eat anything?" he asked concerned, hoping her emotions hadn't kept her from nourishment.

"I can't."

"Why can't you eat?" it was asked in alarm.

"Because it only comes back up," She turned over and faced him, and added before he began to worry, "I ate bread though. Bread settles my stomach."

He grabbed her gently and held her to him, wishing all of his good health into her if she were sick and it was all because of him and his lousy cooking of the fish or making her worried and sad. It was turning out to be one of the most horrible days of his life, but just like Sven's betrayal—he knew the day had come with a silver lining.

He buried his face into her nightdress and they lay there quietly for a few moments.

"If it's a boy, I want to name him after my brother," Astrid managed to say without her voice cracking. He paused in thought, that warm kind of happiness edging into his senses at her indications.

It was a welcome feeling after what had been inside him all day.

_Svenan, _the name was strong sounding.

Svenan Hofferson had been many things in life, not all bad and not all good but he was strong, and like Hiccup, he believed in something and took a risk to achieve it. For that, Hiccup could get behind the idea of son named Svenan.

Hiccup's hands found their way under her dress and to her stomach, feeling nothing but it's usual toned muscle, "Is it now for certain?"

"_Nothing_ is for certain, but intuition has a way of making up one's mind."

And Hiccup knew that.

He spent the next moments laying against his wife, speaking about what had happened, what he had planned, his hopes for the future—and she listened intently. If anything he wanted his children to be born into the world learning that being a Viking was a reason to be proud but the best Vikings took the high road in their lives, and were not brought down by their own weaknesses of fear that caused hate. Differences and ideas should be celebrated, not condemned. Defend honor and defend life. It would take time for the idea to plant in Viking culture, just as it would take time for all their worlds to mend for a greater purpose. Still, Hiccup was growing confidant that he could lead them through that change, and no better time for the start of a change could have come with the turning autumn.

The End.

* * *

**Finale A/N** [it's a long one, sorry!]:

Fun fact: _Myrkrstaðr _is a mash up of the words 'Dark' and 'Place' in Old Norse._  
_

Wow. So , thank you for reading. Thank you for sticking with me throughout this whole summer while I wrote this series. Thank you for reviewing, and discussing the characters, checking out the art and just about everything! It's amazing that one little AstridxHiccup winter oneshot spurred this whole project and it wouldn't have been without the support of the readers!

Could everyone do me a favor and add to this chapter review, or in a PM, or even if you've never reviewed, just drop a line for my reference of :

*what character's collection of chapters you liked the most overall  
*what season's collection you liked the most overall

and if applicable

*your absolute favorite chapter out of the entire series.

And I don't care if you have to go back through and read them all consecutively to remind yourselves [in fact, I encourage it, as you might pick up things you hadn't before ;)] but a big **please** and **thank you** if you take the time to do that little extra finale questionnaire. :)

Now I need to go and finish up stuff on my other fandoms that I was involved with before the whirlwind of HTTYD took over my creative mind, but I'd like for everyone to know I have a plan in the works for another monochapter series based on oneshots of past, present, and futures along this 'seasons' storyline/world I weaved, so if you really wanted to see a certain scene that you think I should have put in or any other kind of suggestions I could consider, you are welcome to drop those at me anytime, I'll be here, taking notes, drawing pictures, listening to John Powell and counting the days 'till Oct. 15th ! :D

My artist's love goes out to all of you!

Gumdrop Boo


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